Lo, if thou sayest, 'I am one, and fashioned like the gracious world, Red clay is all my make, myself, my whole, And not my habitation,' then thy sleep Shall give thee wings to play among the rays O' the morning.

If thy thought be, 'I am one,-- A spirit among spirits,--and the world A dream my spirit dreameth of, my dream Being all,' the dominating mountains strong Shall not for that forbear to take thy breath, And rage with all their winds, and beat thee back, And beat thee down when thou wouldst set thy feet Upon their awful crests.

Ay, thou thyself, Being in the world and of the world, thyself Hast breathed in breath from Him that made the world.
Thou dost inherit, as thy Maker's son, That which He is, and that which He hath made: Thou art thy Father's copy of Himself,-- THOU art thy FATHER'S MIRACLE.
Behold He buildeth up the stars in companies; He made for them a law.

To man He said, 'Freely I give thee freedom.' What remains?
O, it remains, if thou, the image of God, Wilt reason well, that thou shalt know His ways; But first thou must be loyal,--love, O man, Thy Father,--hearken when He pleads with thee, For there is something left of Him e'en now,-- A witness for thy Father in thy soul, Albeit thy better state thou hast foregone.
"Now, then, be still, and think not in thy soul, 'The rivers in their course forever run, And turn not from it.

He is like to them Who made them,' Think the rather, 'With my foot I have turned the rivers from their ancient way, To water grasses that were fading.