Where, where is your comforting
No worst, there is none. Pitched past pitch of grief,
More pangs will, schooled at forepangs, wilder wring.
Comforter, where, where is your comforting?
Mary, mother of us, where is your relief?
My cries heave, herds-long; huddle in a main, a chief
Woe, wórld-sorrow; on an áge-old anvil wince and sing --
Then lull, then leave off. Fury had shrieked 'No ling-
ering! Let me be fell: force I must be brief."'
O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall
Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed. Hold them cheap
May who ne'er hung there. Nor does long our small
Durance deal with that steep or deep. Here! creep,
Wretch, under a comfort serves in a whirlwind: all
Life death does end and each day dies with sleep.
Reader Comments (2)
Jenny - what do you gather about this:
Life death does end and each day dies with sleep.
Beautiful photo! xoxo
@Sally ... GMH writes in a way that can be confusing. In this case you have to go back to the last word of the next-to-last line and link it up with the line you quoted. Then you get: "... all life death does end and each day dies with sleep." Or, life is ended by death, just as each day ends (or dies) when we sleep. I love the line "Nor does long our small durance (endurance) deal with that steep or deep." Which I take to mean, no matter how strong we are, life will eventually level us. Things get steep and very deep. And we know that's true. Thank God for His comfort and watch care. xoxo