I br br On immemorial altitudes august br Grief holds her high dominion. Bold the feet br That climb unblenching to that stern retreat br Whence, looking down, man knows himself but dust. br There lie the mightiest passions, earthward thrust br Beneath her regnant footstool, and there meet br Pale ghosts of buried longings that were sweet, br With many an abdicated “shall” and “must.” br br For there she rules omnipotent, whose will br Compels a mute acceptance of her chart; br Who holds the world, and lo! it cannot fill br Her mighty hand; who will be served apart br With uncommunicable rites, and still br Surrender of the undivided heart. br br II br br She holds the world within her mighty hand, br And lo! it is a toy for babes to toss, br And all its shining imagery but dross, br To those that in her awful presence stand; br As sun-confronting eagles o’er the land br That lies below, they send their gaze across br The common intervals of gain and loss, br And hope’s infinitude without a strand. br br But he who, on that lonely eminence, br Watches too long the whirling of the spheres br Through dim eternities, descending thence br The voices of his kind no longer hears, br And, blinded by the spectacle immense, br Journeys alone through all the after years.