Soar thou aloft, though thou ascend alone,

O Human Spirit! Thou canst not be lost.

What though yon stars, the azure's nightly frost

Melt dark, or mount round thee an arctic zone!

Thou hast sun-warmth and star-source of thine own.

If thou mount not, how bitter is the cost!

What anguish, when whirled down, or tempest tossed,

To know how high toward God thou mightst have flown!

Vault Godward, Poet. What though few may climb

The mountain and the star on trail of thee?

Thy wing-flash beams toward Man, and, if it be

True inspiration—whether thought sublime,

Or fervor for the Truth, or Liberty—

Thy light will reach the earth in goodly time.