“AND ONE FELL BY THE WAYSIDE ...”

SCHOLAR, and man of letters, and daintily nurtured, You were one with your peers, Leaving the half-told story, Throwing away the dear things of this life-time— All you found was the steady, silent effort, Only the toilsome moulding, the shaping the weapon, None of the keen sword-glory. Not for you the crown and the consummation, Not the battle-death, sharp, swift, and kindly; Only the early plodding on, half blindly, Only seeing the end by the faith of the spirit, Only the hardest of all, the preparation, All the heart-breaking spadework, Formulas, initiation; Only the snows of December ... Under the snow the quiet brown land lies sleeping, Waiting the breath of Spring— God will remember.