(Here's the town-gate reached: there's the market-place Gaping before us.) Yea, this in him was the peculiar grace (Hearten our chorus), Still before living he'd learn how to live-- No end to learning. Earn the means first--God surely will contrive Use for our earning. Others mistrust and say, "But time escapes,-- Live now or never!" He said, "What's Time? leave Now for dogs and apes! Man has Forever." Back to his book then: deeper drooped his head; _Calculus_ racked him: Leaden before, his eyes grew dross of lead; _Tussis_ attacked him. "Now, Master, take a little rest!"--not he! (Caution redoubled! Step two abreast, the way winds narrowly.) Not a whit troubled, Back to his studies, fresher than at first, Fierce as a dragon He (soul-hydroptic with a sacred thirst) Sucked at the flagon. Oh, if we draw a circle premature, Heedless of far gain, Greedy for quick returns of profit, sure, Bad is our bargain! Was it not great? did not he throw on God, (He loves the burthen--) God's task to make the heavenly period Perfect the earthen? Did not he magnify the mind, shew clear Just what it all meant? He would not discount life, as fools do here, Paid by installment! He ventured neck or nothing--heaven's success Found, or earth's failure: "Wilt thou trust death or not?" he answered "Yes. Hence with life's pale lure!" That low man seeks a little thing to do, Sees it and does it: This high man, with a great thing to pursue, Dies ere he knows it. That low man goes on adding one to one, His hundred's soon hit: This high man, aiming at a million, Misses an unit. That, has the world here--should he need the next, Let the world mind him! This, throws himself on God, and unperplext Seeking shall find Him. So, with the throttling hands of Death at strife, Ground he at grammar; Still, thro' the rattle, parts of speech were rife. While he could stammer He settled _Hoti's_ business--let it be!-- Properly based _Oun_-- Gave us the doctrine of the enclitic _De_, Dead from the waist down. Well, here's the platform, here's the proper place. Hail to your purlieus, All ye highfliers of the feathered race, Swallows and curlews! Here's the top-peak! the multitude below Live, for they can there. This man decided not to Live but Know-- Bury this man there? Here--here's his place, where meteors shoot, clouds form, Lightnings are loosened, Stars come and go! let joy break with the storm-- Peace let the dew send! Lofty designs must close in like effects: Loftily lying, Leave him--still loftier than the world suspects. Living and dying. WHY I AM A LIBERAL