And hating mine while yet misunderstood,
Stung by my word shall some day find it good,
And bear it broadcast over land and sea.
Or some Saint Augustine, of careless mien,
Giving himself to sensuous pleasures now,
Shall catch the glory from his mother’s brow
That in some word of mine her soul hath seen.
Nay, but I claim no honor as my own
That is not equally the goal for all
Who run with truth, and care not though it fall