She gave me eyes, she gave me ears; And humble cares, and delicate fears; A heart, the fountain of sweet tears; And love and thought and joy.

And you must love him, ere to you He will seem worthy of your love.

But who shall parcel out His intellect by geometric rules, Split like a province into round and square?

Small service is true service, while it lasts.

Spade! Thou art a tool of honor in my hands. I press thee, through a yielding soil, with pride.

Of all that is most beauteous, imaged there In happier beauty; more pellucid streams, An ampler ether, a diviner air, And fields invested with purpureal gleams.

Here must thou be, O man, Strength to thyself - no helper hast thou here - Here keepest thou thy individual state: No other can divide with thee this work, No secondary hand can intervene To fashion this ability. 'Tis thine, The prime and vital principle is thine In the recesses of thy nature, far From any reach of outward fellowship, Else 'tis not thine at all.