Eyes of the soul,--turn from thought's busy realm,
And dwell awhile on yon height-piercing spire,
The sight is none that all things overwhelm,
But one that bids us rise to all things higher.
Delved from the earth a rude and shapeless thing,
Rended by force from the deep quarry's breast,--
Behold from such, a pure form upward spring,
In beauty's fairest vesture aptly drest.
So may'st thou ravish thought's uncultured mine,
From the rude mass harmonious outlines blend,
Clothe with true beauty all the fair design,
That based on earth shall to the heaven ascend
Like Babel's tower,--but no confusion show,
By one grand purpose raised from all that's low.