46.
Behold, oh! Man, how glorious a thing
It is to be! Thou art the type supreme
Of all that is; and couldst thou only bring
Thine eyes to see the grandeur which I sing,
Thou wouldst not grovel in thy waking dream,
But rise to higher, nobler, juster aims,
And make the very vaults of Heaven gleam
With smiles of angels, whose prolonged acclaims
Would shake the earth, aglow with their ethereal flame.