Virtue must shape itself in deed.
In time there is no present, In eternity no future, In eternity no past.
The year is dying in the night.
He that shuts love out, in turn shall be Shut out from love, and on her threshold lie, Howling in outer darkness.
Dowered with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, The love of love.
Name and fame! to fly sublime Through the courts, the camps, the schools Is to be the ball of Time, Bandied in the hands of fools.