on her forehead sits a fire:
She sets her forward countenance
And leaps into the future chance,
Submitting all things to desire.
as yet, a child, and vain–
She cannot fight the fear of death.
What is she, cut from love and faith,
But some wild Pallas from the brain
Demons? fiery-hot to burst
All barriers in her onward race
For power. Let her know her place;
She is the second, not the first.
higher hand must make her mild,
If all be not in vain; and guide
Her footsteps, moving side by side
With wisdom, like the younger child:
she is earthly of the mind,
But Wisdom heavenly of the soul.
O, friend, who camest to thy goal
So early, leaving me behind,
would the great world grew like thee,
Who grewest not alone in power
And knowledge, but by year and hour
In reverence and in charity.