While his white wings restless quivered, with a seraph-like desire.
And his dreams and aspirations slowly took the form of prayer,
Wrestling till the blessing-answer, softly sounded through the air —
“Labor, for to thee is given, dower and destiny divine;
Labor, till the fire within thee, warmeth other hearts than thine!”
And with ceaseless, strong endeavor, wrought the spirit hour by hour,
Humbly looking up for guidance, to the Source of all his power,
Till in place of gloom and darkness, rosy light about him lay,
And dim forms of radiant beauty, seemed to throng around his way.
Forms of glory and of grandeur, and of fair immortal youth,