Since I am here.

Is't your voice chiding, Love,

My mild career?

My meek abiding, Love,

Daily so near?

"Danger and loss" to me?

Ah, Sweet, I fear to see

No loss but loss of Thee

And I am here.

[Pg 33]

Death.

If days should pass without a written word

To tell me of thy welfare, and if days

Should lengthen out to weeks, until the maze

Of questioning fears confused me, and I heard.

Life-sounds as echoes; and one came and said

After these weeks of waiting: "He is dead!"

Though the quick sword had found the vital part,

And the life-blood must mingle with the tears,

I think that, as the dying soldier hears

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