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Poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins


God's Grandeur


The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man's smudge |&| shares man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs --
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast |&| with ah! bright wings. 



Gerard Manley Hopkins


Gerard Manley Hopkins's other poems:
  1. Hurrahing in Harvest
  2. Harry Ploughman
  3. Felix Randal
  4. Repeat That, Repeat
  5. My Own Heart Let Me More Have Pity On


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