What earth needs from earth’s lowest creature? No life
Can be pure in its purpose, and strong in its strife,
And all life not be purer and stronger thereby:
The spirits of just men made perfect on high;
The Army of Martyrs who stand by the throne,
And gaze into The Face that makes glorious their own,
Know this surely at last. Honest love, honest sorrow;
Honest work for the day, honest hope for the morrow,—
Are these worth nothing more than the hand they make weary?
The heart they have saddened, the life they leave dreary?