Reconstruct the poem by dragging each line into its correct position. Your goal is to reassemble the original poem as accurately as possible. As you move the lines, you'll see whether your arrangement is correct, helping you explore the poem's flow and meaning. You can also print out the jumbled poem to cut up and reassemble in the classroom. Either way, take your time, enjoy the process, and discover how the poet's words come together to create something truly beautiful.
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The sickness of my soul declare.
The gloomy mantle of the night,
For God created all to bless.
Shake off the melancholy chain.
To still my sorrows, own thy pow'r,
Then why, my soul, dost thou complain?
Forbid the sigh, compose my mind,
But what th' Eternal acts is right.
O teach me in the trying hour,
Which on my sinking spirit steals,
The mystic mazes of thy will,
My languid vitals' feeble rill,
Nor let the gush of mis'ry flow.
Why drooping seek the dark recess?
Encroaching sought a boundless sway,
The rising sigh, the falling tear,
To thee, my only rock, I fly,
I'll thank th' inflicter of the blow;
Will vanish at the morning light,
And Mercy look the cause away.
Which God, my East, my sun reveals.
But ah! my breast is human still;
Thy goodness love, thy justice fear.
Thy mercy in thy justice praise.
But yet, with fortitude resigned,
When anguish swells the dewy tear,
Whose eye this atom globe surveys,
Omniscience could the danger see,
Are past the pow'r of human skill,β
O God, whose thunder shakes the sky,
If in this bosom aught but Thee
The shadows of celestial light,
π Congratulations! π
You've successfully reconstructed the poem! Your understanding of poetry and attention to detail is impressive.
O God, whose thunder shakes the sky, Whose eye this atom globe surveys, To thee, my only rock, I fly, Thy mercy in thy justice praise.
The mystic mazes of thy will, The shadows of celestial light, Are past the pow'r of human skill,— But what th' Eternal acts is right.
O teach me in the trying hour, When anguish swells the dewy tear, To still my sorrows, own thy pow'r, Thy goodness love, thy justice fear.
If in this bosom aught but Thee Encroaching sought a boundless sway, Omniscience could the danger see, And Mercy look the cause away.
Then why, my soul, dost thou complain? Why drooping seek the dark recess? Shake off the melancholy chain. For God created all to bless.
But ah! my breast is human still; The rising sigh, the falling tear, My languid vitals' feeble rill, The sickness of my soul declare.
But yet, with fortitude resigned, I'll thank th' inflicter of the blow; Forbid the sigh, compose my mind, Nor let the gush of mis'ry flow.
The gloomy mantle of the night, Which on my sinking spirit steals, Will vanish at the morning light, Which God, my East, my sun reveals.