We are ancients of the earth, And in the morning of the times.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease, Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Cleave ever to the sunnier side of doubt.

Name and fame! to fly sublime Through the courts, the camps, the schools Is to be the ball of Time, Bandied in the hands of fools.

Let observation with extended observation observe extensively.

Our little systems have their day; They have their day and cease to be… And thou, O Lord, art more than they.

But while I breathe Heaven's air and Heaven looks down on me, And smiles at my best meanings, I remain Mistress of mine own self and mine own soul.