O lark aspire! 
Aspire forever, in thy morning sky!—­
Forever soul, beat bravely, gladly, higher,
And sing and sing that sadness is a lie.

Forever, soul, achieve! 
Droop not an instant into sloth and rest. 
Live in a changeless moment of the best
And lower heights to Heaven forgotten leave.

Man still will strive. 
Delight of battle leaped within his sires. 
They laughed at death; and Life was all alive: 
In him not blood it seeks, but vast desires.

He wakens from a dream
Reviews the forms he fought in ages gone—­
He or his ancestors, their shapes are one:—­
And also of himself the forms he battled seem.

He sees the truth! 
“I wrestled with myself, and rose to strength. 
Still be that progress mine!—­I see at length
All World, all Soul are one, all ages youth!”

THE PALMER.

O solemn clime to which my spirit looks,
No more will I the path to thee defer,—­
Worn here with search—­a too sad wanderer,—­
The dance-tune spent, surpassed the sacred books,
And spurned that city’s walls where I did plan
A thousand lives, unwitting I was pent;
As though my thousand lives could be content
With any vista in the bounds of man!

Eternal clime, our exile is from thee! 
Flood o’er thy portals like the tender morn!—­
Receive! receive! and let us new be born! 
We are thy substance—­spirit of thy degree—­
Mist of thy bliss—­fire, love, infinity! 
And only by some mischance from thee torn.

THE ARTIST’S PRAYER.

I know thee not, O Spirit fair! 
  O Life and flying Unity
Of Loveliness!  Must man despair
  Forever in his chase of thee!

When snowy clouds flash silver-gilt,
  Then feel I that thou art on high! 
When fire o’er all the west is spilt,
  Flames at its heart thy majesty.

Thy beauty basks on distant hills;
  It smiles in eve’s wine-colored sea;
It shakes its light on leaves and rills;
  In calm ideals it mocks at me;

Thy glances strike from many a lake
  That lines through woodland scapes a sheen;
Yet to thine eyes I never wake:—­
  They glance, but they remain unseen.

I know thee not, O Spirit fair! 
  Thou fillest heaven:  the stars are thee: 
Whatever fleets with beauty rare
  Fleets radiant from thy mystery.

Forever thou art near my grasp;
  Thy touches pass in twilight air;
Yet still—­thy shapes elude my clasp:—­
  I know thee not, thou Spirit fair!

O Ether, proud, and vast, and great,
  Above the legions of the stars! 
To this thou art not adequate;—­
  Nor rainbow’s glorious scimitars.

I know thee not, thou Spirit sweet! 
  I chained pursue, while thou art free. 
Sole by the smile I sometimes meet
  I know thou, Vast One, knowest me.