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Draws under the world with its turmoils and pothers;
While the swans float on softly, untouched in their calms
By Humanity's hum at the root of the springs!
And with Teachings of Thought we reach down to the deeps
      Of the souls of our brothers,
And teach them full words with our slow-moving lips,
"God," "Liberty," "Truth,"—which they hearken and think,
And work into harmony, link upon link,
Till the silver meets round the earth gelid and dense,
Shedding sparks of electric respondence intense
      On the dark of eclipse.
Then we hear through the silence and glory afar,
      As from shores of a star
In aphelion,—the new generations that cry
In attune to our voice and harmonious reply,
      "God," "Liberty," "Truth!"
      We are glorious forsooth—
      And our name has a seat,
     Though the shroud should be donned!
       O Life, O Beyond,
     Thou art strange, thou art sweet!

Help me, God—help me, man! I am low, I am weak—
Death loosens my sinews and creeps in my veins;
My body is cleft by these wedges of pains,
      From my spirit's serene;
And I feel the externe and insensate creep in
      On my organised clay.
      I sob not, nor shriek,
      Yet I faint fast away!
I am strong in the spirit,—deep-thoughted, clear-eyed,—
I could walk, step for step, with an angel beside,
      On the Heaven-heights of Truth!
      Oh, the soul keeps its youth—
But the body faints sore, it is tired in the race,—
It sinks from the chariot ere reaching the goal;