AT sunrise on some gallant day,
Fling out no billowing flag for me!
I would not see
Your scarlet balconies, nor hear
The plaudits of the roaring streets;
I would climb up my secret stair
And count the flowering moments of my days,
How mercy came to me, and quiet peace,
And love, for ease.
And when the tired city lay at rest,
The banners folded and the music gone,
And the last lingering sparrow found its home,
How swift I'd turn
To place my hands, my two hands, Lord, in Thine
Lest praise should do me harm.
But, oh, if I at setting sun
Could hear the Master's call,
"Well done!"
