fate in a braver joust than she, and he must needs look well to his armor if he come off as unscathed. She never stops to bewail the prick of the spear, though it draw blood, but enters the field again for the
“Hope not compassed, and yet not void.”
There is tonic in her work for the craven heart, a note to shame one back to the ranks. Each is a “Recruit” and should take to himself this marching order:
So much to me is imminent:
To leave Revolt that is my tent,
And Failure, chosen for my bride,
And into life’s highway be gone
Ere yet Creation marches on,
Obedient, jocund, glorified:
And, last of things afoot, to know