SUNDAY
A-top the palisades that touch the skyWhere friendly elms flirt with each passing cloud,There let me lie—with Heaven for my shroud,With Nature live, and close to Nature die.I, too, would flirt with clouds that pass me by,Holding my head aloft, my spirit proud,Only by Nature’s wrath shall I be cowed,Only by hand of Providence I die.For Art we live, since Art is Nature’s toy,Fashioned each man in mold almost the same ...Religion, Nation, Race ... are things of name.Cast these aside—God’s playthings are for joy.Amongst the waves that vainly slap the shore,Please God, help me to carry on some more.
A-top the palisades that touch the skyWhere friendly elms flirt with each passing cloud,There let me lie—with Heaven for my shroud,With Nature live, and close to Nature die.I, too, would flirt with clouds that pass me by,Holding my head aloft, my spirit proud,Only by Nature’s wrath shall I be cowed,Only by hand of Providence I die.For Art we live, since Art is Nature’s toy,Fashioned each man in mold almost the same ...Religion, Nation, Race ... are things of name.Cast these aside—God’s playthings are for joy.Amongst the waves that vainly slap the shore,Please God, help me to carry on some more.
A-top the palisades that touch the skyWhere friendly elms flirt with each passing cloud,There let me lie—with Heaven for my shroud,With Nature live, and close to Nature die.
A-top the palisades that touch the sky
Where friendly elms flirt with each passing cloud,
There let me lie—with Heaven for my shroud,
With Nature live, and close to Nature die.
I, too, would flirt with clouds that pass me by,Holding my head aloft, my spirit proud,Only by Nature’s wrath shall I be cowed,Only by hand of Providence I die.
I, too, would flirt with clouds that pass me by,
Holding my head aloft, my spirit proud,
Only by Nature’s wrath shall I be cowed,
Only by hand of Providence I die.
For Art we live, since Art is Nature’s toy,Fashioned each man in mold almost the same ...Religion, Nation, Race ... are things of name.Cast these aside—God’s playthings are for joy.
For Art we live, since Art is Nature’s toy,
Fashioned each man in mold almost the same ...
Religion, Nation, Race ... are things of name.
Cast these aside—God’s playthings are for joy.
Amongst the waves that vainly slap the shore,Please God, help me to carry on some more.
Amongst the waves that vainly slap the shore,
Please God, help me to carry on some more.