The songs of the armies that march to the skies;
The courage that fails not, nor loses its breath
In stress of the battle, but smilingly saith,
“I’ll measure my strength with disaster and death;”
The love that through doubting and pain will increase;
The longing and restlessness, calmed into peace
That is perfect and satisfied, never to cease—
These, these are the dear things. No king on his throne
Can buy them away from the poor and unknown
Who make them, through labor or anguish, their own.