Page:Poems (IA poemslowell00lowe).pdf/95

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PROMETHEUS.
77
Behold thy destiny! Thou think'st it muchThat I should brave thee, miserable god!But I have braved a mightier than thou,Even the tempting of this soaring heart,Which might have made me, scarcely less than thou,A god among my brethren weak and blind,—Scarce less than thou, a pitiable thingTo be down-trodden into darkness soon.But now I am above thee, for thou artThe bungling workmanship of fear, the blockThat awes the swart Barbarian; but IAm what myself have made,—a nature wiseWith finding in itself the types of all,—With watching from the dim verge of the timeWhat things to be are visible in the gleamsThrown forward on them from the luminous past,—Wise with the history of its own frail heart,With reverence and sorrow, and with love,Broad as the world, for freedom and for man.
Thou and all strength shall crumble, except Love,By whom, and for whose glory, ye shall cease:
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