Soul, sublime 'mid human débris,
6Paints the limner's work, I ween, Art and Science, all unweary, Lighting up this mortal dream.
9Work ill-done within the misty Mine of human thoughts, we see Soon abandoned when the Master
12Crowns life's Cliff for such as we.
Students wise, he maketh now thus Those who fish in waters deep,
15When the buried Master hails us From the shores afar, complete.
Art hath bathed this isthmus-lordling
18In a beauty strong and meek As the rock, whose upward tending Points the plane of power to seek.
21Isle of beauty, thou art teaching Lessons long and grand, to-night, To my heart that would be bleaching
24To thy whiteness, Cliff of Wight.