Not if men’s tongues and angels’ all in one Spake, might the word be said that might speak thee. Streams, winds, woods, flowers, fields, mountains, yea the sea, What power is in them all to praise the sun? His praise is this,—he can be praised of none. Man, woman, child, praise God for him; but he Exults not to be worshipped, but to be. He is; and, being, beholds his work well done. All joy, all glory, all sorrow, all strength, all mirth, Are his: without him, day were night on earth. Time knows not his from time’s own period. All lutes, all harps, all viols, all flutes, all lyres, Fall dumb before him ere one string suspires. All stars are angels; but the sun is God. _Tristram of Lyonesse and other Poems._ 1882, p. 280. See also Mr. Swinburne’s _An Autumn Vision, October 31, 1889_. GEORGE MEREDITH, 1883 (_b._ 1828) “_The Spirit of Shakespeare._” Thy greatest knew thee, Mother Earth; unsoured He knew thy sons. He probed from hell to hell Of human passions, but of love deflowered His wisdom was not, for he knew thee well. Thence came the honeyed corner of his lips, The conquering smile wherein his spirit sails Calm as the God who the white sea-wave whips, Yet full of speech and intershifting tales, Close mirrors of us: thence had he the laugh We feel is thine: broad as ten thousand beeves At pasture! thence thy songs, that winnow chaff From grain, bid sick Philosophy’s last leaves Whirl, if they have no recompense—they enforced To fatten Earth when from her soul divorced. How smiles he at a generation ranked In gloomy noddings over life! They pass. Not he to feed upon a breast unthanked, Or eye a beauteous face in a cracked glass. But he can spy that little twist of brain Which moved some mighty leader of the blind, Unwitting ’twas the goad of personal pain, To view in curst eclipse our Mother’s mind, And show us of some rigid harridan The wretched bondman till the end of time. O lived the Master now to paint us Man, That little twist of brain would ring a chime Of whence it came and what it caused, to start Thunders of laughter, clearing air and heart. _Poems and Lyrics of the Joy of Earth._ 1883, pp. 161-2. ROBERT BROWNING, 1884 (1812-1889) “_The Names._”