Iv

Who called us from youth and dreaming, and set ambition alight, And made us fit for the contest,--men, by their tender rite?

Sweethearts above our merit, charming our strength and skill To be the pride of their loving, to be the means of their will.

If we be the builders of beauty, if we be the masters of art, Theirs were the gleaming ideals, theirs the uplift of the heart.

Truly they measure the lightness of trappings and ease and fame, For the teeming desire of their yearning is ever and ever the same:

To crown their lovers with gladness, to clothe their sons with delight, And see the men of their making lords in the best man's right.

Lavish of joy and labor, broken only by wrong, These are the guardians of being, spirited, sentient and strong.

Theirs is the starry vision, theirs the inspiriting hope, Since Night, the brooding enchantress, promised that day should ope.