酷兔英语

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This temple, whose majesty speaks, becomes a religion indeed;



The passionate lights - the intense, the ineffable beauty of sound -

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Go straight to the heart through the sense, as a song would of seraphim crowned.

And lo! by these altars august, the life that is highest we live,



And are filled with the infinite trust and the peace that the world cannot give.

They have passed, have the elders of time - they have gone; but the work of their hands,



Pre-eminent, peerless, sublime, like a type of eternity stands!

They are mute, are the fathers who made this church in the century dim;



But the dome with their beauty arrayed remains, a perpetual hymn.

Their names are unknown; but so long as the humble in spirit and pure



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Are worshipped in speech and in song, our love for these monks will endure;



And the lesson by sacrifice taught will live in the light of the years

With a reverence not to be bought, and a tenderness deeper than tears.



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ROVER



No classicwarrior tempts my pen

To fill with verse these pages -



No lordly-hearted man of men

My Muse's thought engages.



Let others choose the mighty dead,

And sing their battles over!



My champion, too, has fought and bled -

My theme is one-eyed Rover.



A grave old dog, with tattered ears

Too sore to cock up, reader! -



A four-legged hero, full of years,

But sturdy as a cedar.



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Still, age is age; and if my rhyme



Is dashed with words pathetic,

Don't wonder, friend; I've seen the time



When Rove was more athletic.

He lies coiled up before me now,



A comfortable crescent.

His night-black nose and grizzled brow



Fixed in a fashion pleasant.

But ever and anon he lifts



The one good eye I mention,

And tries a thousand doggish shifts



To rivet my attention.

Just let me name his name, and up



You'll see him start and patter

Towards me, like a six-months' pup



In point of speed, but fatter.

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He pokes his head upon my lap,

Nor heeds the whip above him;



Because he knows, the dear old chap,

His human friends all love him.



Our younger dogs cut off from hence

At sight of lash uplifted;



But Rove, with grand indifference,

Remains, and can't be shifted.



And, ah! the set upon his phiz

At meals defies expression;



For I confess that Rover is

A cadger by profession.



The lesser favourites of the place

At dinner keep their distance;



But by my chair one grizzled face

Begs on with brave persistence.



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His jaws present a toothless sight,



But still my hearty hero

Can satisfy an appetite



Which brings a bone to zero.

And while Spot barks and pussy mews,



To move the cook's compassion,

He takes his after-dinner snooze



In genuine biped fashion.

In fact, in this, our ancient pet






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