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

His honour rooted in dishonour stood, And faith unfaithful kept him falsely true.

And so the Word had breath, and wrought With human hands the creed of creeds In loveliness of perfect deeds, More strong than all poetic thoughts; Which he may read that binds the sheaf, Or builds the house, or digs the grave, And those wild eyes that watch the waves In roarings round the coral reef.

Let knowledge grow from more to more, But more of reverence in us dwell; That mind and soul, according well, May make one music as before, But vaster.

A beam in darkness: let it grow.

I remain Mistress of mine own self and mine own soul

That tower of strength Which stood four-square to all the winds that blew.