They come, they come--those angels who have trod
The altitudes of God,
And to the trembling heart
Their strength impart.
Have you not seen the delicate young maid,
Filled with the joy of life in her fair dawn,
Look in the face of death, all unafraid,
And smilingly pass on?

This is not human strength; not even faith
Has such large confidence in such an hour.
It is a power
Supplied by beings who have conquered death.
Floating from sphere to sphere
They hover near
The souls that need the courage they can give.

This is no vision of a dreamer's mind.
Though we are blind
They live, they live,
Filling all space -
Invisible Great Helpers of the race.



TO THE WOMEN OF AUSTRALIA



A toast to the splendid daughters