He spake of love, such love as spirits feel In worlds whose course is equable and pure; No fears to beat away, no strife to heal,- The past unsighed for, and the future sure.

And through the heat of conflict keeps the law In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw.

Who, doomed to go in company with Pain And Fear and Bloodshed,-miserable train!- Turns his necessity to glorious gain.

Delight and liberty, the simple creed of childhood.

Whether we be young or old,Our destiny, our being's heart and home,Is with infinitude, and only there;With hope it is, hope that can never die,Effort and expectation, and desire,And something evermore about to be.

With battlements that on their restless fronts Bore stars.

The wind, a sightless laborer, whistles at his task.