THE world is vast and we are small,
We are so weak and it so strong,
Onward it goes, nor cares at all
For us,—our silence or our song,
Our fast-day or our festival.
We tremble as we feel it sway
Beneath our feet as on we fare;
But, like a ball which children play,
God spins it through the far blue air.
We are his own; why should we care?
* * * * *
Transcriber’s Note:
Ostensible errors in layout were checked against other publishings of
the poem and adjusted as noted below.
Page 47, _A Birthday_, final line of stanza beginning (I cannot add the
lightest thing) was indented four spaces from two. (All impotent to aid
or bless)
Page 69, _One Lesser Joy_, fourth line of stanza beginning (Oh,
haunting shadowy dread which underlies) indented two spaces from zero.
(“Oh, if only they knew—if only they could know,)
Page 104, “Sopr, Arno” changed to “Sopr’ Arno” (Sopr’ Arno, “_Fuccio mi
fecé_” and the date—)
Page 135, _Bereaved_, first stanza’s last three lines had indents that
were the opposite of the rest of the poem. After consulting another
publication, the stanza was adjusted.
Page 205, _Life_, final line of first stanza indented two spaces. (But
what are these the long day’s thirst to slake?)