Vulcan.

From the darksome earth-mine lifted,
    From the clay and from the rock
    Loosen'd out with many a shock;
Slowly from the clay-dross sifted,
    Molten in the fire bright-burning,
    Ever purer, whiter turning--
Ho! the anvil, cool and steady,
For the soften'd rod make ready!

Blow, thou wind, upon the flame,
    Raise it ever higher, hotter,
    Till, like clay before the potter,
Soft become the iron frame,
    Bending at the worker's will,
    All his purpose to fulfil--
Ho! the fire-purged rod is ready
For the anvil, cool and steady!

At each stroke the sparks fly brightly
    Upward from the glowing mass;
    Hail! the stroke that makes them pass,
Fall it heavy, fall it lightly!
    Now the stubborn strength bends humbly,
    To the Master yielding dumbly;
From the metal, purged and glowing,
Forms of freest grace are flowing.

Wield thine hammer well, strong arm!
    Strength to Beauty [*] wedded brings
    Glory out of rudest things,
    Facts from mere imaginings;
Strike from steel its hidden charm!
    Little reck the rocks the blow
    That makes the living water flow;
Little recks man's soul the rod
That scourges it through tears to God.

Walter R. Cassels

Walter R. Cassels was a British poet and author primarily known for his collection of religious poetry, "Supernatural Religion" published in the late 19th century. Though the work was initially published anonymously, it sparked considerable controversy and debate over its skeptical views on Christianity and the supernatural. Cassels' style is marked by thought-provoking themes and meticulous craftsmanship, placing him among notable literary figures of his time.

Walter R. Cassels

Orpheus.

Walter R. Cassels, Simple Poetry

Beatrice Di Tenda.

Walter R. Cassels, Simple Poetry

Serenade.

Walter R. Cassels, Simple Poetry

English

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Pain can go guised as joy, dross pass for gold,
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That Nature Is Not Subject To Decay.

Ah, how the Human Mind wearies herself
With her own wand'rings, and, involved in gloom
Impenetrable, speculates amiss!
Measuring, in her folly, things divine
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William Cowper

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I

Not yet hast Thou sounded
Thy clangorous music,
Whose strings are under the mountains...
Not yet hast Thou spoken
The blooded, implacable Word...

But I hear in the Iron singing -
In the triumphant roaring of the steam and pistons pounding -
Thy barbaric exhortation...
And the blood leaps in my arteries, unreproved,
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All my spirit is inundated with the tumultuous passion of Thy Voice,
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Oh fashioned in fire -
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Lola Ridge

That Nature is Not Subject to Decay.

Ah, how the Human Mind wearies herself
With her own wand'rings, and, involved in gloom
Impenetrable, speculates amiss!
Measuring, in her folly, things divine
By human, laws inscrib'd on adamant
By laws of Man's device, and counsels fix'd
For ever, by the hours, that pass, and die.
How? shall the face of Nature then be plow'd
Into deep wrinkles, and shall years at last
On the great Parent fix a sterile curse?
Shall even she confess old age, and halt
And, palsy-smitten, shake her starry brows?
Shall foul Antiquity with rust and drought
And famine vex the radiant worlds above?
Shall Time's unsated maw crave and engulf
The very heav'ns that regulate his flight?
And was the Sire of all able to fence
His works, and to uphold the circling worlds,
But throug...

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The Song of the Camp-Fire

    I

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Robert William Service