And oft, ah me! from some Wild region of the heart Will startling intimations come, And peace at once depart. With open foes without, And secret foes within, His heart must needs be brave and stout That would life's battle win. Evil In the great wilderness Through which I hold my way, Is there no refuge from distress, Where foes are kept at bay? Saint Anthony of old Could not from evil flee; The desert cave was found to hold His mortal enemy. And knew untiring Paul The world's relentless scorn; While in his flesh, amid it all, He bore another thorn. Our common lot is cast In a great camp of pain! Until the night be over-past, Some foe will yet remain. * * * * * With His Foes The king of beasts was dead-- By an old hero slain; Did dreams of honey for his bread Dance through the hero's brain? Or did he chafe at this: That pain is everywhere? Down, down, thou fabled right to bliss, Life is to do and bear! Beguiled, enslaved, made blind, Yet unsubdued in will, He kept the old heroic mind To serve his country still. And in recovered might Pulled the tall pillars down, Died _with_ his foes--_that was his right_-- And built his great renown. * * * * * For His Foes Devotion all supreme Throbs in the mighty psalm Of One who filled our highest dream And poured His healing balm; Who worlds inherited And yet renounced them all; Who had not where to lay His head And drank the cup of gall; Who emptied of His power Became the foremost man-- Calm at the great prophetic hour Through which God's purpose ran; Who in the darkest fight Imagination knows, Saluted Thee, Eternal Light, And died as _for_ His foes. * * * * * The Master The Master many a day In pain and darkness wrought: Through death to life He held His way, All lands the glory caught. And He unlocked the gain Shut up in grievous loss, And made the stairs to heaven as plain As His uplifted cross-- The stairs of pain and woe In all the work on earth, Up which the patient toilers go To their eternal birth. O Master, Master mine, I read the legend now, _To work and suffer is divine_, All radiant on Thy brow. * * * * * Life in Death Strong children of decay, Ye live by perishing: To-morrow thrives on dead to-day, And joy on suffering. The labor of your hearts, Like that of brain and hands, Shall be for gain in other marts, For bread in other lands.