To be drudges till the last— 
 To be carriers of fire 
     (The red fire of their heart) 
 With speed that may not tire 
     And with pain that shall not part— 
 Who livest—that we know— 
     In Eternity—we feel— 
 But the shadow of whose brow 
     What spirit shall reveal? 
 Tho’ the beings whom thy Nesace, 
     Thy messenger hath known 
 Have dream’d for thy Infinity 
     A model of their own— 
 Thy will is done, oh, God! 
     The star hath ridden high