"
Noble artist! thine the yearning,
Thine the great inspiring word,
By the sleepless mind forever
In its silent watches heard;
For the earthly it is pleasure
Only earthly ends to gain;
For the seeker of the perfect,
To be satisfied is pain.
Visions of an untold glory
Milton saw in his eclipse,
Paradise to outward gazers
Lost, with no apocalypse;
Holier Christ and veiled Madonnas,
Painted were on Raphael's soul;
Melodies he could not utter
O'er Bethoven's ear would roll.
Ever floats the dim Ideal
Far before the longing eyes;
Ever, as we travel onward,
Boundless the horizon flies;
Not the brimming cups of wisdom
Can the thirsty spirit slake,
And the molten gold in pouring
Will the mould in pieces break.
Voice within our inmost being,
Calling deep to answering deep,
Midst the life of weary labor
Thou shalt waken us from sleep!
All our joy is in our Future
And our motion is our rest,
Still the True reveals the Truer,
Still the good foretells the Best.
JUNE TWENTY-NINTH, EIGHTEEN FIFTY-NINE.
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