1

“The glow retreats, done is the day of toil; It yonder hastes, new fields of life exploring;
Ah, that no wing can lift me from the soil,
Upon its track to follow, follow soaring!”

2

A glorious dream! though now the glories fade. Alas! the wings that lift the mind no aid
Of wings to lift the body can bequeath me.”

3

Daily work—my hands’ employment, To complete is pure enjoyment!
Let, oh, let me never falter!
No! there is no empty dreaming:
Lo! these trees, but bare poles seeming,
Yet will yield both fruit and shelter!
GOETHE’S “HOPE,”

Translated by William Gibson, Com. U.S. N.