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Rh And I read it on your brow. You have shown me how.

I can feel your cheeks all wet, But your eyes will not forget: In the frown you cannot hide I can read where faith and pride Are not satisfied.

But the word was, two should live: Two should suffer—and forgive: By the steep and weary way, For the glory of the clay, Two should have their day.

We have toiled and we have wept For the gift the gods have kept: Clashing and unreconciled When we might as well have smiled, We have played the child.

But the clashing is all past, And the gift is yours at last. Lift it—hold it high again! . . . Did I doubt you now and then? Well, we are not men.