For scions to come, whose sworded thoughts
strike deeper
Than any we have known.
Not for ourselves alone !
Not for ourselves alone !
O spirit, overgrown
With tangled wrongs and strange confusions,
bruising
The wings of thy first faith, take courage, losing
Thyself to find thyself, in patience choosing
This watchword as thine own, —
Not for ourselves alone !
ONCE AND AGAIN.
O a lonely lake 'mid the high hills hidden,
In the golden hush of the afternoon,
A poet came, as a guest long bidden,
With dust -dimmed raiment and wayworn shoon.
Sly Time had stolen his cheeks' first flushes;
As the early dawning his brow was wan;
And his sudden steps from the silent rushes
Scared the swan.
For when before had the wild swan hearkened
The falling foot of a human guest?
