Win the old smile a moment ere, alone,
Soars the great soul to bear report to God.
Night falls; but thou, dear Captain, from thy star
Look down, behold how bravely goes the war!




II

A. B. D.

_Canon Residentiary and Precentor of Truro
December_ 1903

Many had builded, and, the building done,
Through our adornèd gates with din
Came Prince and Priest, with pipe and clarion
Leading the right God in.

Yet, had the perfect temple quickened then
And whispered us between our song,
_"Give God the praise. To whom of living men
Shall next our thanks belong?"_

Then had the few, the very few, that wist
His Atlantean labour, swerved
Their eyes to seek, and in the triumph missed,
The man that most deserved.