Waving so flower-like When the winds blow!

Into the starlight
Rushing in spray,
Happy at midnight,
Happy by day!

Ever in motion,

Blithesome and cheery, Still climbing heavenward, Never aweary:

Glad of all weathers,
Still seeming best,
Upward or downward,
Motion thy rest; -

Full of a nature

Nothing can tame, Changed every moment, Ever the same;

As he foresaw how all things false should crumble

Before the free, uplifted soul of man : And, when he was made full to overflowing

With all the loveliness of heaven and earth,

Out rushed his song, like molten iron glowing,

To show God sitting by the humblest hearth.

With calmest courage he was ever ready To teach that action was the truth of thought,

And, with strong arm and purpose firm and steady,

An anchor for the drifting world he wrought.

Sodid he make the meanest man partaker Of all his brother-godsunto him gave; All souls did reverence him and name him Maker,

And when he died heaped temples on his grave.

And still his deathless words of light are swimming

Serene throughout the great deep infinite

Of human soul, unwaning and undim

And let man's soul be yet again beholden To thee for wings to soar to her desire. O, prophesy no more to-morrow's splendor,

Be no more shamefaced to speak out for Truth,

Lay on her altar all the gushings tender, The hope, the fire, the loving faith of

youth!

O, prophesy no more the Maker's coming,

Say not his onward footsteps thou canst hear

In the dim void, like to the awful humming

Of the great wings of some new-lighted sphere!

O, prophesy no more, but be the Poet! Thislonging was but granted unto thee That, when all beauty thou couldst feel and know it,

That beauty in its highest thou couldst be.

O, thou who moanest tost with sealike longings

Who dimly hearest voices call on thee, Whose soul is overfilled with mighty throngings

Of love, and fear, and glorious agony, Thou of the toil-strung hands and iron sinews

And soul by Mother Earth with freedom fed,

In whom the hero-spirit yet continues, The old free nature is not chained or

Who sees a brother in the evildoer,

And finds in Love the heart's-blood of his song;—

This, this is he for whom the world is waiting

Tosing the beatings ofits mighty heart, Too long hath it been patient with the grating

Of scrannel-pipes, and heard it misnained Art.

To him the smiling soul of man shall listen

Laying awhile its crown of thorns aside,

And once again in every eye shall glisten
The glory of a nature satisfied.
His verse shall have a great command-
ing motion,

Heaving and swelling with a melody Learntofthesky, the river, and the ocean And all the pure, majestic things that be.

Awake, then, thou! we pine for thy great presence

To make us feel the soul once more sublime,

We are of far too infinite an essence Torestcontented with the lies of Time

One half the cold she had not felt Until she saw this gush of light Spread warmly forth, and seem to melt Its slow way through the deadening night.

She hears a woman's voice within, Singing sweet words her childhood knew,

And years of misery and sin

Furl off, and leave her heaven blue.

Her freezing heart, like one who sinks Outwearied in the drifting snow, Drowses to deadly sleep and thinks No longer of its hopeless woe:

Old fields, and clear blue summer days, Old meadows, green with grass and

trees,

That shimmer through the trembling haze

And whiten in the western breeze,