Still, down the stormy path, we hear
Their hero-voices ringing clear.
V
Who for their fellows live and die,
They the immortals are. O sigh
Not for their loss, but rather praise
The God that gave them to our days.
ON A CERTAIN "AGNOSTIC"
Agnostic! Ah, what idle name for him
Who knew—not the untruths of fables old,
Cherished in fear, or arrant ignorance;
Who knew—not the shrewd structures of keen minds
Intent on their own shrewdness; losing quite
The inner truth in outward scaffoldings,
Cunning appearances, and schemes involved;
But who knew well the central verity:
That honest thought followed, without dismay,
Unto the bitter and accepted end,
Is the one way to wisdom in this world;
Who knew not creeds, but could not help but follow
The feet of him who loved his fellow-men;
Who knew that human service is true life;
Who knew deep friendship, lived this knowledge out,
As few called "friends" have ever dared to live;
And who knew well the sacred truth of love.
Ah, call him not unknowing, for he knew
The truth of truth—the gods can know no more.
"A WEARY WASTE WITHOUT HER"
"A weary waste without her?" Ah, but think!
