Of angry strife and murderous thought of wrong
It hath with such sad patience borne so long,
The year draws near the judgment-seat of God.
Signed at its birth with Heaven’s holiest name,
Blessed with the chrism of self-sacrifice,
It brought men gifts of more than royal price;
Asked in return a pure and generous fame;
Life’s book it opened at a clean white page—
Whereon fell not the shadow of a stain—
Set in man’s hand a consecrated pen