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Speak God Of Visions

 O, thy bright eyes must answer now,
When Reason, with a scornful brow,
Is mocking at my overthrow!
O, thy sweet tongue must plead for me,
And tell why I have chosen thee!

Stern Reason is to judgment come,
Arrayed in all her forms of gloom:
Wilt thou, my advocate, be dumb?
No, radiant angel, speak and say
Why I did cast the world away;

Why I have presevered to shun
The common paths that others run,
And on a strange road journeyed on,
Heedless alike of wealth and power,
Of Glory's wreath and Pleasure's flower.
These once, indeed, seemed Beings Divine; And they, perchance, heard vows of mine, And saw my offerings on their shrine; But careless gifts are seldom prized, And mine were worthily despised.
So, with a ready heart I swore To seek their altar-stone no more; And gave my spirit to adore Thee, ever-present, phantom thing— My slave, my comrade, and my king.
A slave, because I rule thee still, Incline thee to my changeful will, And make thy influence good or ill; A comrade, for by day and night Thou art my intimate delight,— My darling pain that wounds and sears, And wrings a blessing out of tears Be deadening me to earthly cares; And yet, a king, though Prudence well Have taught thy subject to rebel.
And I am wrong to worship where Faith cannot doubt, nor Hope despair, Since my own soul can grant my prayer? Speak, God of Visions, plead for me, And tell why I have chosen thee!

by Emily Bronte
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