AN EPISTLE.
171
Surely they see not God, I know,
Nor all that chivalry of His,
The soldier-saints who, row on row,
Nor all that chivalry of His,
The soldier-saints who, row on row,
Burn upward each to his point of bliss—
Since, the end of life being manifest,
He had cut his way thro' the world to this.
Since, the end of life being manifest,
He had cut his way thro' the world to this.
I hear your reproach—"But delay was best,
For their end was a crime!"—Oh, a crime will do
As well, I reply, to serve for a test,
For their end was a crime!"—Oh, a crime will do
As well, I reply, to serve for a test,
As a virtue golden through and through,
Sufficient to vindicate itself
And prove its worth at a moment's view.
Sufficient to vindicate itself
And prove its worth at a moment's view.
Must a game be played for the sake of pelf?
Where a button goes, 'twere an epigram
To offer the stamp of the very Guelph.
Where a button goes, 'twere an epigram
To offer the stamp of the very Guelph.
