The Rim of the Circle.

We travel the rim of the circle; the center is under the feet; Today is the sire of tomorrow, the noon and the night never meet; The mornings come out of the purple to die in the light of the day, And over the dead of the ages the living are up and away!

We travel the rim of the circle! The roses are ruddy and red Where the blossoms that burst into beauty are sleeping the sleep of the dead; And the trees in the deeps of the forest wave scepters of laughter and light Where the monarchs have perished forever and sheathed are the swords of their might.

We travel the rim of the circle! The peoples that struggled and wrought Are the dust of the ways that we wander, with truths they discovered and taught; And back to the morning we hasten,—the morning when nations were new,— For the Voice of the Master is calling, and still there is labor to do.

We travel the rim of the circle, yet wider and wider it grows, Yet farther and farther it reaches till Love conquers all of her foes, And Faith to the far journey beckons, and Truth with her promises sweet Sounds the call of the masterful ages and hurries the march of the feet.

We travel the rim of the circle! Its path is a way of delight; The morning brings ever the noon-day and conquers the shadows of night; And whether we walk it a little, or whether we wander it far, Still widens the rim of the circle, and yonder the sun and the star!