Normale Version: JACOB AND THE ANGEL.
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SHALL he not bless me ? will he never speak
Those words of proud concession, 'Let me go
For the day breaketh ! Wearily and slow
The shrouded hours troop past across the peak,
Eastering ; and I, with hands grown all too weak
And strength that would have failed me long ago,
But for the set soul, strain to overthrow
The instant God. Alas ! 'tis I that speak-
Not Jacob I that in this night of days
Do wrestle with the angel Art, till breath
And gladness fail me ! Yet the stern soul stays
And will not loose him till he bless me ay,
Even though the night defer my victory
Until the day break on the dawn of death.