Perished their names from the earth that they trod,
But every name is remembered by God,—
All that they sought for, and all that they wrought.
Fixed in unlikeness each separate soul,
Brethren and kin in the infinite whole.
Is God not tired, though almighty He is,
As the long years form the slow centuries,
And the slow centuries linked in embrace
Make up the cycles and meet into space?
Wearies He never, nor ceaseth His toil,