Who doubts the power of faith makes faith a lie!

NEAR.
Who leans upon a reed shall find distress.

POLY.
His staff will guide, support my feebleness.
Thou wert my staff, to show the Truth, the Way,
Must I now urge thee to the realms of day?
Thou fearest death?

NEAR.
The Christ once feared to die!

POLY.
Yet drained the bitter cup of agony!
The way that thou hast shown--that way He trod;
His way be ours to lead man's soul to God--
For heathen shrine--to rear His altar fair,--
The deathless hope alone can kill despair!
Thou said'st: 'If Him thou wilt for pattern take,
Then leave wife, wealth, home, all for His dear sake!'
Alas, that love of thine, now weak and poor,
Glows yet within my breast--and shall endure;
Ah, must the dawn of this my perfect day
Find thy full light beclouded, dimmed, astray?

NEAR.
Baptismal waters yet bedew thy brow;
The grace that once was mine, that grace hast thou.