O Freedom! whose pure soul and heart embrace
Translates me into heaven, I draw for breath
The joy of angels who have not known death.
Child-like, I look up in thy loving face,
Else gaze around and point, and curious place
My hand on Mottoes, hung on high. One saith:
"Beware, for he not with me scatterith."
Its meaning comes to me with growth, like grace.
Ah, as a youngster, on its mother's arm,
Seeing a hideous thing approaching night,