Ideals

O bright Ideals, how ye shine
Aloft in realms of air!
Ye pour your streams of light divine
Above our low despair.

Shine on, shine on through darkest night,
Nor let your glories pale!
Some stronger soul may win the height,
Where weaker ones must fail.

And this one thought of hope and trust
Comes with its soothing balm,
As here I lay my brow in dust,
And breathe my lowly psalm, —

That not for heights of victory won,
But those I tried to gain,
Will come my gracious Lord's — Well done, —
And sweet effacing rain.

Then on your awful heights of blue
Shine on, forever shine!
I come, I climb, I mount to you, —
For endless years are mine.
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