And go on your ways toward the doubt and the strife;
Join hope to our hope and blend sorrow with sorrow.
And seek for men's love in the short days of life."

But lo, the old inn, and the lights, and the fire,
And the fiddler's old tune and the shuffling of feet;
Soon for us shall be quiet and rest and desire,
And to-morrow's uprising to deeds shall be sweet.





A DEATH SONG



What cometh here from west to east awending?
And who are these, the marchers stern and slow?
We bear the message that the rich are sending
Aback to those who bade them wake and know.
_Not one, not one, nor thousands must they slay,
But one and all if they would dusk the day._

We asked them for a life of toilsome earning,
They bade us bide their leisure for our bread;
We craved to speak to tell our woeful learning:
We come back speechless, bearing back our dead.
_Not one, not one, nor thousands must they slay,
But one and all if they would dusk the day._