Doth the loud world aye clamour in thine ears?
Nay, never weep; for the loud world doth pass.
Faint in the distance die her shrieking fears,
Leaving serenest silence, and the grass
Waveth her plumy ranks of tender spears
Above the green and blossoming morass.
Weary thy body; yea, and so thine heart,
But these be none of thee, for thou dost dwell
Unsullied in a clearer space apart,
In a great beauty words may never tell,
Nor any of the shifts of petty art;
And of this heritage bethink thee well.
Know thou art for the healing of mankind,
For his soul’s health was made thy clarity,
And for the fearless faring of his mind,
By many a winding way to wenden free:
Sense to the dead, and vision to the blind,
Think on these riches, this nobility.
Through all the woe thou seest, calm abide,
(O worthless woe, that maketh men to weep!)
Since thou hast sanctuary. Beatified,
Ay, happy ever rests thy spirit deep,
Like the clear snow on silent pastures wide,
Joyful as love, and calm as sacred sleep.
1916.