That man's the best cosmopolite Who loves his native country best.

And this gray spirit yearning in desire To follow knowledge like a sinking star, Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

Rich in saving common-sense, And, as the greatest only are, In his simplicity sublime.

Man is man, and master of his fate.

Once in a golden hour, I cast to earth a seed, And up there grew a flower, That others called a weed.

I cannot rest from travel: I will drink Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those That loved me, and alone.

O mighty-mouthed inventor of harmonies, O skilled to sing of Time or Eternity, God-gifted organ-voice of England, Milton, a name to resound for ages.