REVISED PROOFS
I WATCH the printer's clever handPick up the type from here and there—Make it in ordered row to stand,And gather it with practised care.Maybe 'twill make the poet's page,The leaf of some romantic book,The sheet that chronicles the age,The tome on which the sage shall look.But ah! not yet; full well he knowsNo printer lives from error free;And in those neat and serried rowsAre letters that ought not to be.He takes his proof-sheet with a sigh,Deleting here, and adding there,Till not the keenest reader's eyeBut must confess the whole is fair.And shall the pages of our lives—Letter by letter daily set—Be subject, when the end arrives,To no revising process yet?Sometimes our eyes are blurred with tears,Sometimes our hands with passion shake,Sometimes a tempting Devil leersAt all the errors that we make.Forbid, O God! that work so vainShall stand in an eternal scroll—With faults of sin, and joy, and pain—As long as future ages roll!
I WATCH the printer's clever handPick up the type from here and there—Make it in ordered row to stand,And gather it with practised care.Maybe 'twill make the poet's page,The leaf of some romantic book,The sheet that chronicles the age,The tome on which the sage shall look.But ah! not yet; full well he knowsNo printer lives from error free;And in those neat and serried rowsAre letters that ought not to be.He takes his proof-sheet with a sigh,Deleting here, and adding there,Till not the keenest reader's eyeBut must confess the whole is fair.And shall the pages of our lives—Letter by letter daily set—Be subject, when the end arrives,To no revising process yet?Sometimes our eyes are blurred with tears,Sometimes our hands with passion shake,Sometimes a tempting Devil leersAt all the errors that we make.Forbid, O God! that work so vainShall stand in an eternal scroll—With faults of sin, and joy, and pain—As long as future ages roll!
I WATCH the printer's clever handPick up the type from here and there—Make it in ordered row to stand,And gather it with practised care.
I WATCH the printer's clever hand
Pick up the type from here and there—
Make it in ordered row to stand,
And gather it with practised care.
Maybe 'twill make the poet's page,The leaf of some romantic book,The sheet that chronicles the age,The tome on which the sage shall look.
Maybe 'twill make the poet's page,
The leaf of some romantic book,
The sheet that chronicles the age,
The tome on which the sage shall look.
But ah! not yet; full well he knowsNo printer lives from error free;And in those neat and serried rowsAre letters that ought not to be.
But ah! not yet; full well he knows
No printer lives from error free;
And in those neat and serried rows
Are letters that ought not to be.
He takes his proof-sheet with a sigh,Deleting here, and adding there,Till not the keenest reader's eyeBut must confess the whole is fair.
He takes his proof-sheet with a sigh,
Deleting here, and adding there,
Till not the keenest reader's eye
But must confess the whole is fair.
And shall the pages of our lives—Letter by letter daily set—Be subject, when the end arrives,To no revising process yet?
And shall the pages of our lives—
Letter by letter daily set—
Be subject, when the end arrives,
To no revising process yet?
Sometimes our eyes are blurred with tears,Sometimes our hands with passion shake,Sometimes a tempting Devil leersAt all the errors that we make.
Sometimes our eyes are blurred with tears,
Sometimes our hands with passion shake,
Sometimes a tempting Devil leers
At all the errors that we make.
Forbid, O God! that work so vainShall stand in an eternal scroll—With faults of sin, and joy, and pain—As long as future ages roll!
Forbid, O God! that work so vain
Shall stand in an eternal scroll—
With faults of sin, and joy, and pain—
As long as future ages roll!