There are victories for our hands to win,
Rocks to rive, and stubborn glebes to mellow,
Outward trials leagued to foes within;
Earth and self to purify from sin.
No! our spirits shall not cringe and grovel,
Stooping lowly to a low thoughts door,
As if Heaven were straitened to a hovel,
All its star-worlds set to rise no more,
And our genius had no wings to soar.
Truths bequeathed us are for lures to action;