From: The Dial, Vol. IV., No. III (Jan. 1844)
Author:
Published: James Munroe and Company 1844 Boston
LINES.
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From thine own longings and lone tears,
And now thy broad sails are unfurled,
And all men hail thee with loud cheers.
The flowing sunlight is thy home,
The billows of the sea are thine,
To all the nations shalt thou roam,
Through every heart thy love shall shine.
The subtlest thought that finds its goal
Far, far beyond the horizon’s verge,
Oh, shoot it forth on arrows bold,
The thoughts of men, on, on to urge.
Toil not to free the slave from chains,
Think not to give the laborer rest;
Unless rich beauty fills the plains,
The free man wanders still unblest.
All men can dig, and hew rude stone,
But thou must carve the frieze above;
And columned high, through thee alone,
Shall rise our frescoed homes of love.
