Ii

Yet are there other gifts more fair than thine, Nor can I count him happiest who has never Been forced with his own hand his chains to sever, And for himself find out the way divine; He never knew the aspirer's glorious pains, He never earned the struggle's priceless gains. Oh, block by block, with sore and sharp endeavor, Lifelong we build these human natures up Into a temple fit for Freedom's shrine, And, Trial ever consecrates the cup Wherefrom we pour her sacrificial wine.