Brown Bestiarius holding the lean tawn tiger at bay,
Paint me the wrestle of Toil with the wild-beast Want, bare-handed;
Shadow me forth a soul steadily facing To-day!
THE BALLAD OF CALNAN’S CHRISTMAS
When you hear the fire-gongs beat fierce along the startled street,
See the great-limbed horses bound, and the gleaming engine sway,
And the driver in his place, with his fixed, heroic face,
Say a prayer for Calnan’s sake—he that died on Christmas day!
Cling! Cling! Each to his station!
Clang! Clang! Quick to clear the way!