Pale genius roves alone,
No scout can track his way,
None credits him till he have shown
His diamonds to the day. 


Not his the feaster's wine,
Nor land, nor gold, nor power,
By want and pain God screeneth him
Till his elected hour.


Go, speed the stars of Thought
On to their shining goals:-
The sower scatters broad his seed,
The wheat thou strew'st be souls.