And by the old, and the sad, and the broken,
Often he lingered, a well-beloved guest;
Dear was his voice, whatever the word spoken,
Sweetening their day with a song or a jest.

In the far times of brave ballad and story,
Men of his make kept the gates of the sea,
Wrought mighty deeds of power and glory,
Scattered their tyrants, and set the land free!

* * * * *

In the far times when perchance hearts were stronger,
When for a faith men could face death alone,
And it would seem that love lasted longer,
Such a white soul would have come to its own.

Down in the city the people but noted
One who was silent when things went awry,
Toiled at dull tasks, and was strangely devoted
To small deeds of kindness that others passed by.

Down in the city the people but noted
One who thought little of wealth and its ways;
One whose true words were full often misquoted,
One who laughed lightly at blame or at praise.