III
“And now the Powers of Water, Fire, and Air,
And that dread Thing behind the lightning’s light
Cry, Master us, O man, for thou art fair;
To serve thee is our freedom and our might.
“We love the craft that found our hidden place—
The beauty of the cunning of thy hands;
We love the quiet empire of thy face:
Hook us with steel and harness us with bands!
“Make us the Genius of the crookèd plow;
The Spirit in the whisper of the wheels;
The unseen Presence sitting at the prow,
To urge the wanderings huge, sea-cleaving keels.
“They come from ocean and the sun’s blue tent;
He lays bright harness on them, and his word;
New pulse from continent to continent
Runs; the dead places of the world are stirred.
“Bearing the sceptres of the mystery,
Man rides at elbow with the flying gale,
Shrinks up the ancient spaces: land and sea
Dispute his wingèd way without avail—
“All but the Arctic silences, where stands
The Spirit of the Winters, and denies,
With incontestable gesture of white hands,
And lure of baleful beauty in her eyes.
“It is the hour of man: new Purposes,
Broad-shouldered, press against the world’s slow gate;
And voices from the vast eternities
Still preach the soul’s austere apostolate.
“Always there will be vision for the heart,
The press of endless passion: every goal
A traveler’s tavern, whence he must depart
On new divine adventures of the soul.”