WHAT reck we of the creeds of men?—
We see them—we shall see again.
What reck we of the tempest's shock?
What reck we where our anchor lock?
On golden marl or mould—
In salt-sea flower or riven rock—
What matter—so it hold?
What matters it the spot we fill
On Earth's green sod when all is said?—
When feet and hands and heart are still