  The poet young e'er finds a tongue To tell the joys of love. The poet bold e'en dares behold The mystery above. The poet brave e'er loves to rave Of wars and victories gained. The poet sweet e'en dares repeat The angels' songs unfeigned. And to each one we say, "Well done, Go on and do thy best." Though still we feel each doth but seal A part of life's bequest. But yet we cry, "O goddess high, Must thou thy wealth so share? America feign would have the reign Of one thy gift to bear. She needs such one to help her shun The dangerous shoals of thought, Which in this age of clown and sage Her progress gained hath wrought. She needs such one to help her shun The deeper shoals of wrong, Which in these days of doubt's fond lays Tempt e'en her favored strong. Oh, send such one to say, 'Well done,' And tell in truth God's plan, While he declares as well as shares The fullest life of man." |
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