I.
HUMAN lives are silent teaching,
Be they earnest, mild, and true—
Noble deeds are noblest preaching
From the consecrated Few.
Poet-Priests their anthems singing,
Hero-sword on corslet ringing,
When Truth's banner is unfurled;
Youthful preachers, genius-gifted,
Pouring forth their souls uplifted,
Till their preaching stirs the world;
II.
Each must work as God has given
Hero hand or poet soul;
Work is duty while we live in
This weird world of sin and dole.
Gentle spirits, lowly kneeling,
Lift their white hands up appealing
To the Throne of Heaven's King—
Stronger natures, culminating,
In great actions incarnating
What another can but sing.
III.
Pure and meek-eyed as an angel,
We must strive—must agonise;
We must preach the saints' evangel
Ere we claim the saintly prize.
Work for all, for work is holy,
We fulfil our mission solely
When, like Heaven's arch above,
Blend our souls in one emblazon,
And the social diapason
Sounds the perfect chord of love.
IV.
Life is combat, life is striving,
Such our destiny below;
Like a scythéd chariot driving
Through an onward pressing foe.
Deepest sorrow, scorn, and trial
Will but teach us self-denial;
Like the alchymists of old,
Pass the ore through cleansing fire
If our spirits would aspire
To be God's refinéd gold.