When sorrow in black surges rolls
And gloomy darkness hides the sun,--
These in their truth make more the man
Than royal aim or princely plan.

But sometime man shall rule by thought,
And worth shall gain her just return,
Till all shall every singer spurn
Who in the ancient cycles taught
That heroes rest in royal graves,
But never in the tombs of slaves.




IF WE BUT KNEW.


If we but knew the weary way,
The poisoned paths of hostile hate,
The roughened roads of fiercest fate,
Through which our brother's journey lay,
Would we condemn, as now we do,
His faults and failures,--if we knew?

Would we forget the shadows grim,
The lonely hours of grief and pain,
The follies dead, the pleasures slain,
The tears and toils that hindered him,
And only prize the deeds that grew