text:  9 But onward to the Sphere of Beauty--go Onward O Child of Art! and lo Out of the matter which thy pains control The Statue springs!--not as with labour wrung From the hard block but as from Nothing sprung-- Airy and light--the offspring of the soul! The pangs the cares the weary toils it cost Leave not a trace when once the work is done-- The artist's human frailty merged and lost In art's great victory won! 10 If human Sin confronts the rigid law Of perfect Truth and Virtue [9] awe Seizes and saddens thee to see how far Beyond thy reach Perfection;--if we test By the Ideal of the Good the best How mean our efforts and our actions are! This space between the Ideal of man's soul And man's achievement who hath ever past? An ocean spreads between us and that goal Where anchor ne'er was cast! 11 But fly the boundary of the Senses--live the Ideal life free Thought can give; And lo the gulf shall vanish and the chill Of the soul's impotent despair be gone! And with divinity thou sharest the throne Let but divinity become thy will! Scorn not the Law--permit its iron band The sense (it cannot chain the soul) to thrall