From imperfection’s murkiest cloud, Darts always forth one ray of perfect light, One flash of heaven’s glory.

To fashion’s, custom’s discord, To the mad Babel-din, the deafening orgies, Soothing each lull a strain is heard, just heard, From some far shore the final chorus sounding.

O the blest eyes, the happy hearts, That see, that know the guiding thread so fine, Along the mighty labyrinth.

And thou America, For the scheme’s culmination, its thought and its reality, For these (not for thyself) thou hast arrived.

Thou too surroundest all, Embracing carrying welcoming all, thou too by pathways broad and new, To the ideal tendest.