What have we here wherewith to medicine
The endless frictions of contracting days?
What magic will release thought prisoned in
The deadly routines of our mortal ways?
Is there no alchemy that may transmute
A leaden selfishness to love's pure gold?
No argument by which we may refute
The accusations conscienceless and cold?
A star has risen whose clear light will bathe
In lambent fire the stones beneath our feet,
Whose life, rich-burgeoning, in joy will wreathe
With laurel all our symbols of defeat.
Through Christly service is true freedom found;
In love of God shall love for man abound.
