Explore "In a Churchyard" by George MacDonald on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
There may be seeming calm above, but no! -- / There is a pulse below which ceases not, / A subterranean working, fiery hot, / Deep in the million-hearted bosom, though / Earthquakes unlock not the prodigious show / Of elemental conflict; and this spot / Nurses most quiet bones which lie and rot, / And here the humblest weeds take root and grow.
There is a calm upon the mighty sea, / Yet are its depths alive and full of being, / Enormous bulks that move unwieldily; / Yet, pore we on it, they are past our seeing! -- / From the deep sea-weed fields, though wide and ample, / Comes there no rushing sound: _these_ do not trample!