Beyond the path of the outmost sun through utter darkness hurled - |
Farther than ever comet flared or vagrant star-dust swirled - |
Live such as fought and sailed and ruled and loved and made our world. |
|
They are purged of pride because they died; they know the worth of |
their bays; |
They sit at wine with the Maidens Nine and the Gods of the Elder Days - |
It is their will to serve or be still as fitteth Our Father's praise. |
|
‘Tis theirs to sweep through the ringing deep where Azrael’s outposts are, |
Or buffet a path through the Pit's red wrath when God goes out to war, |
Or hang with the reckless Seraphim on the rein of a red-maned star. |
They take their mirth in the joy of the Earth - they dare not grieve |
for her pain. |
They know of toil and the end of toil; they know God's Law is plain; |
So they whistle the Devil to make them sport who know that Sin is vain. |
|
And oft-times cometh our wise Lord God, master of every trade. |
And tells them tales of His daily toil, of Edens newly made; |
And they rise to their feet as He passes by, gentlemen unafraid. |
|
To these who are cleansed of base Desire, Sorrow and Lust and Shame - |
Gods for they knew the hearts of men, men for they stooped to Fame - |
Borne on the breath that men call Death, my brother's spirit came. |
|
He scarce had need to doff his pride or slough the dross of Earth - |
E'en as he trod that day to God so walked he from his birth, |
In simpleness and gentleness and honour and clean mirth. |
|
So cup to lip in fellowship they gave him welcome high |
And made him place at the banquet board - the Strong Men |
ranged thereby, |
|
|
Beyond the loom of the last lone star, through open darkness hurled, |
|
Sits he with those that praise our God for that they served His world. |