Not to the brave upon the battle-field
Alone, the palms of victory belong;
Nor only to the great of earth the song
Of praise and paean should the singer yield.
Greater the souls that, single handed, wield
The battle-ax against the hosts of wrong,
Unknown, un-noted, in life’s reckless throng,
And only in God’s day to stand revealed.
How many such, in patient, humble guise,
Beside us walk their grief-appointed way!
Nobly enduring; worthiest to shine
As fixed stars in fame’s eternal skies.
For these, for this, I reverently lay
On her dear dust this little leaf of mine.
