>A Favorite Poem

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God’s Grandeur by Hopkins
The world is charged with the grandeur of God. It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil. Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?

Generations have trod, have trod, have trod; And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs-
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

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