Still clings about our feet, still drags us down,

And fetters us to earth without a crown.

And so, still unattaining all through life,

We follow still the bootless, mortal strife,

And laugh, and weep, and flatter, and fret, and—die!—

Die still unsatisfied,

Some wish not gratified!

VIII.
THE CROWNING GLORY.

Labor night and day

Howsoe’er we may