God's truth, a man were lightly dead
For such a golden heritage!
But these, the surging centuries' wrack
Beyond all tides auspicious thrown,
Doomed with bowed head and threadbare back
To till the land they might not own,
Reft of the swallow's tranquil lease,
Reft of the scrap-fed robin's dole—
How have these reared in starving peace
This flaming valiancy of soul?...