He Spoke, And Loos'd Our

The Will Is Free; Strong Is The Soul, And Wise, And Beautiful; The Seeds Of Godlike Power Are In Us Still; Gods Are We, Bards, Saints, Heroes, If We Will!

We Cannot Kindle When We Will The Fire Which In The Heart Resides, The Spirit Bloweth And Is Still, In Mystery Our Soul Abides: But Tasks In Hours Of Insight Will'd Can Be Through Hours Of Gloom Fulfill'd.

Grey Time-worn Marbles Hold The Pure Muses. In Their Cool Gallery, By Yellow Tiber, They Still Look Fair.

Calm Soul Of All Things! Make It Mine To Feel, Amid The City's Jar, That There Abides A Peace Of Thine, Man Did Not Make, And Cannot Mar! The Will To Neither Strive Nor Cry, The Power To Feel What Others Give! Calm, Calm Me More! Nor Let Me Die Before I Have Begun To Live.

O Strong Soul, By What Shore Tarriest Thou Now? For That Force, Surely, Has Not Been Left Vain!