Inscribe all human effort with one word, artistry's haunting curse, the Incomplete!

Strike when thou wilt, the hour of rest, but let my last days be my best.

Once more on my adventure brave and new.

Is your love for the Lord sufficient to give all your time and talents to his work?

I give the fight up: let there be an end, a privacy, an obscure nook for me. I want to be forgotten even by God.

I trust in Nature for the stable laws Of beauty and utility. Spring shall plant And Autumn garner to the end of time. I trust in God,-the right shall be the right And other than the wrong, while he endures. I trust in my own soul, that can perceive The outward and the inward,-Nature's good And God's.

In the morning of the world, When earth was nigher heaven than now.