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To each high purpose, generous deed, That sanctifies our earth. He who hath highest aim in view, Must dream at first what he will do.

Upon that youthful brow are traced High impulses like these; But all too purposeless, like gales That wander o'er the seas; Not winds that bear the vessel on, Fix'd to one point, and only one.

And meaner workings have deform'd   His natural noble mind; Those wretched aims which waste the ore For happier use design'd.