Men of Genius

SILENT, the Lord of the world Eyes from the heavenly height, Girt by his far-shining train, Us, who with banners unfurl’d Fight life’s many-chanc’d fight Madly below, in the plain. Then saith the Lord to his own:— "See ye the battle below? Turmoil of death and of birth! Too long let we them groan. Haste, arise ye, and go; Carry my peace upon earth." Gladly they rise at his call; Gladly they take his command; Gladly descend to the plain. Alas! How few of them all— Those willing servants—shall stand In their Master’s presence again! Some in the tumult are lost: Baffled, bewilder’d, they stray. Some as prisoners draw breath. Others—the bravest—are cross’d, On the height of their bold-follow’d way, By the swift-rushing missile of Death. Hardly, hardly shall one Come, with countenance bright, O’er the cloud-wrapt, perilous plain: His Master’s errand well done, Safe through the smoke of the fight, Back to his Master again.