The stars went down amid the deep,
The sun rose up at morn;
There was no quiet for their sleep,
The sounds of life were borne
Far o’er the inhabitable main,
Vexed for man’s warfare or man’s gain.
But here no tumult ever past,
The wild wind brought no sound,
Saving the mighty music cast
By the dark pine-trees round;
And Nature had one hour’s repose
Amid the silence of the snows.
The foot of man these heights hath sought—
What will his coming bring?
What hath his coming ever brought
The world where he is king?
Cares, toils, the universal dower
Both of his presence and his power
But yet those cares have high reward,
Those toils a noble scope;
Each year that passes has unbarred
The gates of some great hope;
Each height that man can gain brings near
The shadow of a higher sphere.
Hope is a solemn creed and true,
And still keeps looking on;
We only judge what man can do
By that which he has done.
Hope’s shadow is upon it cast—
The prophet’s mirror is the past.
Let none despair, and say, How vain
Man’s labour and man’s care!
Each hour that passes must sustain
The spirit that would dare.
For not on an unthankful soil
Has man bestowed his time and toil.
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