Classic Poem

Rise up my soul!
Shake thyself from the dust.
Lift up thy head that wears an aureole,
Fulfil thy trust.
Out of the mire where they would trample thee
Make images of clay,
Whereon having breathed from thy divinity
Let them take mighty wings and soar away right up to God.
Out of thy broken past
Where impious feet have trod,
Build thee a golden house august and vast,
Whereto these worms of earth may some day crawl.
Let there be nothing small
Henceforth with thee;
Take thou unbounded scorn of all their scorn, Eternity
Of high contempt: be thou no more forlorn
But proud in thy immortal loneliness,
And infinite distress:
And, being 'mid mortal things divinely born,
Rise up my soul!