The perils of the calm

The carelessness of harm,

Where the warm waves are still;

The tempest and the thrill.

 Comrades, be yours that vigor old, Be yours the elected power That fits a man, like rock to tide, To his appointed hour; Yours to become all that we were, And all we might have been; Yours the fine eye that separates The unseen from the seen. 

Be yours the elected power

To his appointed hour;

And all we might have been;

The unseen from the seen.

 

  [1] Written for the Centennial Celebration at Andover Phillips Academy. 

 

 

 THE UNSEEN COMRADES.[1] 

 Last night I saw an armèd band, whose feet Did take the martial step, although they trod Soundless as waves of light upon the air. (Silent from silent lips the bugle fell.) The wind was wild; but the great flag they bore, Hung motionless, and glittered like a god Above their awful faces while they marched. And when I saw, I understood and said— "If these are they whom we did love, and give, What seek they?" But one sternly answered me,— "We seek our comrades whom we left to thee: The weak, who were thy strength; the poor, who had Thy pride; the faint and few who gave to thee One supreme hour from out the day of life, One deed majestic to their century. These were thy trust: how fare they at thy hands? Thy saviors then—are they thy heroes now? Our comrades still; we keep the step with them, Behold! As thou unto the least of them Shalt do, so dost thou unto us. Amen." 

 

  [1] Written for the benefit of the Soldiers' Home at Chelsea, Massachusetts. 

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