This is thy glory, Man, that thou art free.

'Tis in thy freedom, thy resemblance lies

To thy Creator. Nature, which, tide-wise,

Is flood and ebb, bounds not sky flight for thee.

Lo! as the sun arises from the sea,

Startling all beauty God-ward, thou dost rise

With mind to God in heaven, from finite ties,

And there, in freedom, thou art great as He.

Meeting thy God with mind, 'tis thine to choose,

Wheather to follow him with love and soar,

Or dream Him myth and, rather than adore,

Plunge headlong into Nature's whirl and ooze.

Thine is full freedom. Ah! could God do more

To liken thee to Him, and love, infuse?