O! it is sweet to weave aerial ties With fair and fond creations of our own, To keep the spirit buoyant on the rise Of that unebbing joyance which alone Engrosses life, - The consciousness of power To sluice pure waters from the fount of song, And far in lordly eminence to tower Above the world on pinions swift and strong; Confronting greatness in her every form, By the deep sea, and where the thunders lower To pour from out their skirts th' Atlantic storm; To keep unfading impress of each hour That Nature's beauty hallows, and to know Which is the purest tone her voice doth yield below! |