Thou shalt be crushed, yet newer life shalt claim;
Slander, the hydra-tongued, shall cloud thy name;
Treason with thee break bread; toil, hunger, cold,
Thy daily ’tendants far from these sweet bowers.
A score of years thy sorrows still enfold,
But myriad souls shall feast on thy dark hours
Through centuries to come, and learn of thee
The path to peace, and prayer’s sweet mystery.
The seraph waits with flaming lance to dart
The fires of heaven within thy yearning heart,