Thinking the deed, and not the creed, Would help us in our utmost need.
All sense of hearing and of sight enfold in the serene delight and quietude of sleep.
The twilight that surrounds the border-land of old romance.
Ripe in wisdom was he, but patient, and simple, and childlike.
I am weary of your quarrels, Weary of your wars and bloodshed, Weary of your prayers for vengeance, Of your wranglings and dissensions
Who ne'er his bread in sorrow ate, Who ne'er the mournful midnight hours Weeping upon his bed has sate, He knows you not, ye Heavenly Powers.