Do seem to bear a magic wand
That wins the secret of their toils—
Rare souls that waste like sandal-wood
In many a fragrant deed and mood;
And some invoke the wrath of God,
Or feign to kiss the scourging rod,—
And some, maybe with better prayers,
Stand up in all their griefs and cares
And clench their teeth, and do and die,
Without a whine, a curse or cry.
And so the dust and grit and stain
Of travel wears into the grain,
And so the hearts and souls of men
Were darkly tried and tested then,
So that in happy after years,
When rainbows gild remembered tears,
Should any friend enquire of you
If such or such an one you knew—
I hear the answer, terse and grim,
"Ah, yes, I crossed the plains with him!
That wins the secret of their toils—
Rare souls that waste like sandal-wood
In many a fragrant deed and mood;
And some invoke the wrath of God,
Or feign to kiss the scourging rod,—
And some, maybe with better prayers,
Stand up in all their griefs and cares
And clench their teeth, and do and die,
Without a whine, a curse or cry.
And so the dust and grit and stain
Of travel wears into the grain,
And so the hearts and souls of men
Were darkly tried and tested then,
So that in happy after years,
When rainbows gild remembered tears,
Should any friend enquire of you
If such or such an one you knew—
I hear the answer, terse and grim,
"Ah, yes, I crossed the plains with him!
And lo! a moaning phantom stands
To greet you in the lonely lands,
Among all lesser shadows dight,
With spoils of death; his meagre hands
Salute you as you pass, and claim
The sacrifice that feeds his flame.
The march has broken into flight,
And wreck and ruins strew the road
The flaming phantom has bestowed;
The ox lies gasping in his yoke,
To greet you in the lonely lands,
Among all lesser shadows dight,
With spoils of death; his meagre hands
Salute you as you pass, and claim
The sacrifice that feeds his flame.
The march has broken into flight,
And wreck and ruins strew the road
The flaming phantom has bestowed;
The ox lies gasping in his yoke,
