In one thing only thou mayst glory still,
And let exulting joy thy bosom fill,—
Glory in this—and what is all beside,—
That for this worm—this atom—Christ hath died!
Does conscious genius fire thy haughty mind,
Genius, that raises man above his kind,
The lofty soul that soars on wing of fire,
While crowds at distance marvel and admire?
Oh! while the charmed world pays her homage just,
Remember every talent is a trust,