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yet 'twas dark mine eyes were formed to see; In silence ears were shapen unto me.

Ere I traversed the subtle ways of thought Within the sealèd crypt a brain was wrought.

And delicately fashioned was the hand, Though all unknown the task it should command.

Yet these are but the parts; what of the whole— The man compact, complete, a living soul?

Shall that which grew within him year by year— Knowledge and judgment, mastery of fear,

The dawning dream of kindlier brotherhood, And that dim hope, so little understood,

Which seems to beckon to some higher end Than yet he has the power to comprehend—

Shall these prove fallow, and the finished man Be unrelated to the final plan?