Look equably, not caring much, on foe
And fame and misesteem of man below;
And with forgiving radiance on their face,
And eyes that aim beyond the bourn of space,
Seeing the invisible, glory-clad, go up
And drink the absinthine cup,
Fill'd nectar-deep by the dear love of Him
Slain at Jerusalem
To free them from a tyrant worse than this,
Changing brief anguish for the heart of bliss.

_Envoy_

--O moaning stream of Time,
Heavy with hate and sin and wrong and woe
As ocean-ward dost go,
Thou also hast thy treasures!--Life, sublime
In its own sweet simplicity:--life for love:
Heroic martyr-death:--
Man sees them not: but they are seen above.

_One in black array_; Sir T. More's daughter, Margaret Roper.

_That Hall_; Westminster, where More was tried: _That other place_; Tower
Hill.

_The vision of her girlhood_; More taught his own children, and was like
a child with them. He 'would take grave scholars and statesmen into the
garden to see his girls' rabbit-hutches. . . . _I have given you kisses
enough_, he wrote to his little ones, _but stripes hardly ever_': (Green,