The Motion of Man

Oh, what masterful might is the motion of man
When he moves in the light of a purposeful plan,
When his head is held upright and shoulders are set
For the task that’s self-given to an end that’s not yet,
When his eyes in their swiftness his hands steer on straight
To the mass of his statue of Freedom and Fate,
And the Fate, it lies lifeless and dentful and dead,
And the Freedom stands hardy with hammer well sped,
And the lone thing it wants is a kiss on his brow
To en-smooth the new truth making bliss in it now,
As the hand of creation and fingers of fire
Sweep over the forehead of well-made desire,
And the soul of the art and the artist are one
As the might of all May is the boast of the sun.
Though his act is at end, yet the fact of him sings
In the eyes of who worship man’s beautiful things.
Yea, the beautiful, hero-ful, glorious sight
Leads the minds of the worshipful height upon height,
While the masterful might of the motion of man
Moves to “Next” in the light of his purposeful plan!

Yea, man proves when he moves by his knowledge and will
That his future will find him far over the hill,
Where new vales open up to his high-valued prime
All a-wait for the wonder of wisdom sublime,
That from man can come only, yea, only from he
Who alone of all beings is at best when he’s free.
Oh, what music’s a-throb through his soul in a thought,
Oh, what notes of his knowing that ring when they’re caught,
Oh, what joy of his voice as it leaps into air
As he triumphs in singing, “I know that I’m there!”
Then it’s taking on deeds that come one after one
As he climbs ever clear in the eye of the sun
To give birth to a sky-man, at home with things far,
In his reason a why-man that nothing can bar,—
For all this has his story no tragical end,
But a glory beginning around every bend,
As he lives, IS the statue of Freedom and Fate
That upbeats through his being, “It’s never too late
To lift high and swing hammer, and make your ideal
Of a man who has mastered the true and the real!

In the weight of his hands hangs the heaven of man,
In the jut of his chin all his wins that began;
In the shine of his forehead and sight of his eyes
Every motion of he that is rise upon rise!

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