There's Nothing Fair Nor Beautiful,

We See But Dimly Through The Mists And Vapors; Amid These Earthly Damps What Seem To Us But Sad, Funereal Tapers May Be Heaven's Distant Lamps.

These Stars Of Earth, These Golden Flowers.

All The Means Of Action -- The Shapeless Masses -- The Materials -- Lie Everywhere About Us. What We Need Is The Celestial Fire To Change The Flint Into The Transparent Crystal, Bright And Clear. That Fire Is Genius.

Build Me Straight. O Worthy Master! Staunch And Strong, A Goodly Vessel That Shall Laugh At All Disaster, And With Wave And Whirlwind Wrestle!

Where, Twisted Round The Barren Oak, The Summer Vine In Beauty Clung, And Summer Winds The Stillness Broke, The Crystal Icicle Is Hung.