You that have seen how the world and its glory Change and grow old like the love of a friend; You that have come to the end of the story, You that were tired ere you came to the end; You that are weary of laughter and sorrow, Pain and pleasure, labour and sin, Sick of the midnight and dreading the morrow, Ah, come in; come in. You that are bearing the load of the ages; You that have loved overmuch and too late; You that confute all the saws of the sages; You that served only because you must wait, Knowing your work was a wasted endeavour; You that have lost and yet triumphed therein, Add loss to your losses and triumph for ever; Ah, come in; come in. And we knew as we went up that twisted street, With its violet shadows and pearl-pale walls, We were coming to Something strange and sweet, For the dim air echoed with elfin calls; And, far away, in the heart of the City, A murmur of laughter and revelry rose,— A sound that was faint as the smile of Pity, And sweet as a swan-song’s golden close. And then, once more, as we marched along, There surged all round us that wonderful song; And it swung to the tramp of our marching feet; But ah, it was tenderer now and so sweet That it made our eyes grow wet and blind, And the whole wide-world seem mother-kind, Folding us round with a gentle embrace, And pressing our souls to her soft sweet face.