(Here’s the town-gate reached:  there’s the market-place
                Gaping before us.)
Yea, this in him was the peculiar grace
                (Hearten our chorus!)
That before living he’d learn how to live—­
                No end to learning: 
Earn the means first-God surely will contrive
                Use for our earning. 80
Others mistrust and say, “But time escapes: 
                Live now or never!”
He said, " What’s time?  Leave Now for dogs and apes! 
                Man has Forever.” 
Back to his book then:  deeper drooped his head: 
                Calculus racked him: 

Leaden before, his eyes grew dross of lead: 
                Tussis attacked him. 
“Now, master, take a little rest!”—­not he! 
                (Caution redoubled, 90
Step two abreast, the way winds narrowly!)
                Not a whit troubled
Back to his studies, fresher than at first,
                Fierce as a dragon
He (soul-hydroptic with a sacred thirst)
                Sucked at the flagon. 
Oh, if we draw a circle premature,
                Heedless of far gain,
Greedy for quick returns of profit, sure
                Bad is our bargain! 100
Was it not great? did not he throw on God,
                (He loves the burthen)
God’s task to make the heavenly period
                Perfect the earthen? 
Did not he magnify the mind, show clear
                Just what it all meant? 
He would not discount life, as fools do here,
                Paid by instalment. 
He ventured neck or nothing-heaven’s success
                Found, or earth’s failure:  110
“Wilt thou trust death or not?” He answered “Yes: 
                Hence with life’s pale lure!”
That low man seeks a little thing to do,
                Sees it and does it: 
This high man, with a great thing to pursue,
                Dies ere he knows it. 
That low man goes on adding one to one,
                His hundred’s soon hit: 
This high man, aiming at a million,
                Misses an unit. 120
That, has the world here-should he need the next,
                Let the world mind him! 
This, throws himself on God, and unperplexed
                Seeking shall find him. 
So, with the throttling hands of death at strife,
                Ground he at grammar;
Still, thro’ the rattle, parts of speech were rife: 
                While he could stammer
He settled Hoti’s business—­let it be!—­
                Properly based Oun—­ 130
Gave us the doctrine of the enclitic De,
                Dead from the waist down. 
Well, here’s the platform, here’s the proper place: 
                Hail to your purlieus,
All ye highfliers of the feathered race,
                Swallows and curlews! 
Here’s the top-peak; the multitude below
                Live, for they can, there: