That goddess of garnered ages that sows For flowers of virtue perennial seeds, As upward dispensing her light she goes, Handfast the fatherland, too, she leads. The breath of her quickening summons she blows Like winds that bear life to the blossomless meads, And Wisdom along her pathway upsprings And Hope is revived in new bourgeonings. Ay, she has put by for this fatherland The mortal allures of sleep and of rest, To weave green laurels with her white hand On the forehead of Science or Art to be prest! If on some aureate morrow we stand Forth gazing as one from a mountain’s crest, Her spirit that led us from steep to steep There will our faltering footsteps keep. Wherever her gleaming white throne may arise, There with bared brow goes resolute youth; Error gives back from the glance of her eyes, Larger and luminous made with Truth; Vice before her cowering lies, Pallid and hurtless, with Crime the uncouth. For she has a magic all potent to make Wild nations tamest for her sweet sake. Beneath that throne the fountain is flowing That waters the plants, the forests, the plains; Her placid abundance for ever outgoing For ever increases the store that remains; In the groves that along her rivers are growing The spell of her quiet loveliness reigns; If thence to rude conflict the summons sound In her is man’s ultimate triumph found. In her lips is all lore to hearten and guide The pilgrim that heavenward plods his way, In her spirit a voice sagacious to chide Him that has purpose but for a day; As a shore lashed vainly of impotent tides Is her faith that knows not of fear or dismay, As she rises with hand outstretched toward the portals Where beckon the vistas celestial to mortals. Where misery sits in its darkness and need, Behold her lighting the living flame; She fetters the filching fingers of Greed, Gives joy for sorrow and honor for shame. Who takes to his heart her uttermost creed Makes nobler his life and loftier his aim, And hers is the cool and dextrous art That heals the old hurts in the generous heart. The lighthouse stands on the eternal rock By the storm-harried seas oft beaten and battered; The hurricane bellows, the mad waves shock— On its stirless walls they rise and are shattered, Till Ocean drives back his disorderly flock By their futile assailings affrighted and scattered. So with this goddess it is, whose light Ill cannot dim through the stormiest night.