Day, and hot noon, and now the evening glow,

And 'neath our scaffolding the city spread

Twilit, with rain-wash'd roofs, and—hark!—below,

One late bell tolling. "Dead? Our Captain dead?"

Nay, here with us he fronts the westering sun

With shaded eyes and counts the wide fields won.

Aloft with us! And while another stone

Swings to its socket, haste with trowel and hod!

Win the old smile a moment ere, alone,

Soars the great soul to bear report to God.

Night falls; but thou, dear Captain, from thy star

Look down, behold how bravely goes the war!

II

A. B. D.

Canon Residentiary and Precentor of Truro December 1903 Many had builded, and, the building done, Through our adornèd gates with din Came Prince and Priest, with pipe and clarion Leading the right God in. Yet, had the perfect temple quickened then And whispered us between our song, "Give God the praise. To whom of living men Shall next our thanks belong?"  Then had the few, the very few, that wist His Atlantean labour, swerved Their eyes to seek, and in the triumph missed, The man that most deserved. He only of us was incorporate In all that fabric; stone by stone Had built his life in her, had made his fate And her perfection one; Given all he had; and now—when all was given— Far spent, within a private shade, Heard the loud organ pealing praise to Heaven, And learned why man is made.—  To break his strength, yet always to be brave; To preach, and act, the Crucified ... Sweep by, O Prince and Prelate, up the nave, And fill it with your pride! Better than ye what made th' old temples great, Because he loved, he understood; Indignant that his darling, less in state, Should lack 

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