He took our thoughts of hills, and woods, and streams; And made them real, with added beauty given. He took the shattered fragments of our dreams, And built a city fair, and called it Heaven. The Man Who Knows (1922) We owe our debt to the man who thinks, For he leads our minds afar Till they stand and tremble on the brinks Of the strangest things that are. We owe our debt to the man who hopes, For he keeps our courage strong. He speaks his cheer to the soul that gropes, And it wakens into song. And here’s to the man whose soul believes, In whose heart convictions burn Through the day of life, and who dying leaves Them to others in their turn. But the old world’s mighty tasks are planned And done, as it onward goes, By the balanced mind and the steady hand That belong to the man who knows. The Marine (1922) He has made a hundred harbors. He has sailed the seven seas. He has trod the Arctic ice fields. He has felt the tropic breeze. He has dwelt in peaceful cities. He has taken shade and sun-- He has never hunted trouble Nor from trouble ever run. Grim and rugged are his features, Brown his arms and hard his hands; Yet his eyes are frank and winsome, With a boyish air he stands. Readiest of all our fighters, True his aim, and dread his gun-- He has never hunted trouble Nor from trouble ever run. The Measure of Life (1922) Not what I get, but what I give As days go fleeting past. Not how I feel, but how I live Must tell the tale at last. Not what I have, but what I do, The loads I bear, the paths I hew Through forests no man ever knew, The highways that I cast. Not the advantage that I take But give amid the strife. The service for some others’ sake Where selfishness is rife. The effort that I make to bless My time and fellows with success, And brotherhood, and happiness, Measures this little life. Monuments (1922) Sometimes the angels go searching For the graves of the sons of God. They traverse the reaching mountains, The sea, and the rolling sod. They never on earth would find them By the marks we so long have known, For they never stop to decipher Our records in bronze and stone. They find the graves of God’s children By the monuments builded fair Through years of struggle and toiling By the hands that are buried there Or words that were fitly spoken, Of service devoted, true. We mortals may never see them, But God’s messengers always do. My Riches (1922) In no triumphal line I ride, No praise falls on my ears; But I’ve a flag that waves in pride, Above me through the years. A flag whose folds are dear to me, Whose glory I confess-- The symbol of my liberty, And peace, and happiness.