Chiefs of all the Conquerors--
Kings above the Kings--
Fame beyond all earthly fame
Where the censer swings.
Brave and strong and silent--
Patient, cautious, calm--
E’en as the ministering angels--
Even as Gilead’s Balm--
They come; the quiet god-men,
Where hope has fled apace,
And the Reaper’s scythe is swaying
Across the ashen face.
No miracle proclaims them--
No thundering cheer and drum--
As creeps the light of the starlit night
God’s Emissaries come.
A touch to the raveled life-cord
Or ever it snaps in twain;
And as the light of the starlit night
They silently pass again.