human
Come on, my brother whispered me;
gpt
It were more decent that we enter now; Come on! we'll hear this rare old demigod: I like strong men and large; I like gray heads, And grand gruff voices, hoarse though this may be With shouting in the storm. It was not hoarse, The voice that preached to those few fishermen And women, nursing mothers with the babes Hushed on their breasts; and yet it held them not: Their drowsy eyes were drawn to look at us, Till, having leaned our rods against the wall, And left the dogs at watch, we entered, sat, And were apprised that, though he saw us not, The parson knew that he had lost the eyes And ears of those before him, for he made A pause--a long dead pause, and dropped his arms, And stood awaiting, till I felt the red Mount to my brow. And a soft fluttering stir Passed over all, and every mother hushed The babe beneath her shawl, and he turned round And met our eyes, unused to diffidence, But diffident of his; then with a sigh Fronted the folk, lifted his grand gray head, And said, as one that pondered now the words He had been preaching on with new surprise, And found fresh marvel in their sound,
human
Behold! Behold! saith He,
gpt
I stand at the door and knock.