Faced odium, danger, death;
Poverty is your reward and pain,
That shall end with your dying breath.
I, beginning the path you trod,
Love you, so near the end;
Can I, too, conquer the trammeled clod,
Till the higher self ascend?
I know not: Many brave men fall
Ere they reach your brave life’s span.
Old friend, it is due in part to you,