How the majestic stellar lights of Heav'n
Gliding in rhythm through the aisles of space,
Shed cheering radiance on the waiting earth,
When all day long the Sun has hid his face.
How glowed the painter's soul with rapture mute,
When after weary toil and vague unrest,
The Head Divine upon his vision broke,
And rare contentment closed a loving quest.
Men who dare mighty deeds with dauntless will,
Oft meet defeat, not glorious victory;
But the uplifting souls to undreamed heights,
May not of poorest laurels worthy be.
There is a heroism born of pain,
Whose recompense in noble impulse lies;
And sometimes tears that e'en from grief did flow,
Are changed to joy-drops in pathetic eyes.
From out the din of mighty orchestras,
The sweetest, purest tones are oft evolved;
So from the discord of our restless lives,
May come sweet harmony when all is solved.