Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/426

398 Still, down the stormy path, we hear

Their hero-voices ringing clear.

V

Who for their fellows live and die,

They the immortals are. O sigh

Not for their loss, but rather praise

The God that gave them to our days.

ON A CERTAIN "AGNOSTIC"

"A WEARY WASTE WITHOUT HER"

waste without her?" Ah, but think!

You who were blest with the most sweet, most near