He passed like light across the darkened land, And dying, left behind him this command, "The door is open! So let it ever stand!" Full mightily wrought he. Forth to the fight he fared, High things and great he dared, In His Master's might, to spread the Light, Right mightily wrought he. He greatly loved-- He greatly lived-- And died right mightily. LIVINGSTONE THE BUILDER _With a will! With a will! With a will and surely! Without fail, Drive each nail, Build we so, securely_! The Pioneer,--the Undaunted One, Worn with long journeyings through the Great Dark Land, Rests for a season from his mighty labours, And seeks fresh vigour in a change of toil. _Labour is sweet, When hands and hearts are willing,-- Who truly works Is God's own law fulfilling_. With his own hands he helps to build a temple, Here, in the wilds, a temple to his God, Rough-hewn and roughly thatched, but still a house Of prayer, a holy place, and consecrate To Him whose noblest temples are not built With hands, but in the opened hearts of men. _The Master worked, With His own hands expressing His sure belief That therein lay God's blessing_. Thus, as he toils, with axe, and nail, and hammer, His heart rejoices,--so the Master worked, And by His lowly toil for ever stamped True labour with its highest dignity. _With a will! With a will! With a will and surely! Without fail, Drive each nail, Build we so, securely_! LIVINGSTONE'S SOLILOQUY "My heart to-day Is strangely full of home! How is it With the dear ones over there? Five years! Five long-drawn years! And one short moment is enough To alter life's complexion for eternity! Home! Home! Home! * * * * * How is it with you all At Home? * * * * * And you, my dearest one, Are ever nearer to me than the rest! Your body lies Beneath the baobab In far Shapanga; But your soul is ever nearest When I need you most. Where a man's treasure is His heart is. And half my heart is buried there with you, And half works on for Africa. Home! Home! Home! * * * * * Why should such thought of home Drag at my heart to-day? Why should I longer roam? Why should I not go home? Five years of toilsome wanderings May claim a rest! * * * * * Nay! God knows best! When He sees well He'll take me home and give me well-earned rest. The work is not yet done. This land of Night Is not yet fully opened to the Son And His fair Light. But--when the work is done-- Ah--then!--how gladly will I go-- Home!--Home--Home!-- To rest!" KAPIOLANI