But lo another, how shall he have praise? 
Through flame and thorns I led him many days
And nought he shrank, but smiled and followed close,
Till in his path the shade of hate arose
’Twixt him and his desire:  with heart that burned
For very love back through the thorns he turned,
His wounds, his tears, his prayers without avail
Forgotten now, nor e’en for him a tale;
Because for love’s sake love he cast aside. 
—­Lo, saith the World, a heart well satisfied
With what I give, a barren love forgot—­
—­Draw near me, O my child, and heed them not! 
The world thou lovest, e’en my world it is,
Thy faithful hands yet reach out for my bliss,
Thou seest me in the night and in the day
Thou canst not deem that I can go astray.

No further, saith the world ’twixt Heaven and Hell
Than ’twixt these twain.—­My faithful, heed it well! 
For on the great day when the hosts are met
On Armageddon’s plain by spears beset,
This is my banner with my sign thereon,
That is my sword wherewith my deeds are done. 
But how shall tongue of man tell all the tale
Of faithful hearts who overcome or fail,
But at the last fail nowise to be mine. 
In diverse ways they drink the fateful wine
Those twain drank mid the lulling of the storm
Upon the Irish Sea, when love grown warm
Kindled and blazed, and lit the days to come,
The hope and joy and death that led them home. 
—­In diverse ways; yet having drunk, be sure
The flame thus lighted ever shall endure,
So my feet trod the grapes whereby it glowed.

Lo, Faithful, lo, the door of my abode
Wide open now, and many pressing in
That they the lordship of the World may win! 
Hark to the murmuring round my bannered car,
And gird your weapons to you for the war! 
For who shall say how soon the day shall be
Of that last fight that swalloweth up the sea? 
Fear not, be ready! forth the banners go,
And will not turn again till every foe
Is overcome as though they had not been. 
Then, with your memories ever fresh and green,
Come back within the House of Love to dwell;
For ye—­the sorrow that no words might tell,
Your tears unheeded, and your prayers made nought
Thus and no otherwise through all have wrought,
That if, the while ye toiled and sorrowed most
The sound of your lamenting seemed all lost,
And from my land no answer came again,
It was because of that your care and pain
A house was building, and your bitter sighs
Came hither as toil-helping melodies,
And in the mortar of our gem-built wall
Your tears were mingled mid the rise and fall
Of golden trowels tinkling in the hands
Of builders gathered wide from all the lands.—­
—­Is the house finished?  Nay, come help to build
Walls that the sun of sorrow once did gild
Through many a bitter morn and hopeless eve,
That so at last in bliss ye may believe;
Then rest with me, and turn no more to tears,
For then no more by days and months and years,
By hours of pain come back, and joy passed o’er
We measure time that was—­and is no more.