Curtius! thou bearest not the sword or shield Of bloody war, but to the psalms Of poets’ harps thou wavest the palms Which demi-gods in glory bear, Walking the green Elysian fields Forever free from toil or care, Chanting a soul-inspiring song, While pilgrims to thy shrine the Eternal City throng. Listen, O missionary brothers, The mighty Christian brotherhood Who toil in surplice, gown, or hood, The rulers of each English-speaking nation Proclaim the watchword of Salvation; Monarchs become Evangel-nursing mothers; The doves that perch Within the belfry of the Church Turn carrier-doves; their rustling wings Fan every breeze with song; soft sings Victoria’s low and gentle voice, In tones which make mankind rejoice; Of India’s Empress, England’s Queen, Unsullied Sovereign she of brow serene, Proclaims the law of Christ, her realm’s foundation. Gladstone repeats the lofty proclamation: England’s star-bannered colony, Home of the upright, brave and free, The States so wisely ruled by Washington-- Like England lit by never-setting sun-- Send from Columbia’s far-winding shore The peaceful words to Hague of Theodore; The Rose of Sharon’s fragrant hedge Shall guard our borders, surest pledge Of universal lasting peace, And love shall reign and bloody wars shall cease. From Khartoum’s streets red with his blood Went Gordon’s soul to greet his God; Long had he served his Master well-- What mattered where or how he fell? Thou, Gordon, canst not miss the way-- Go easily to Eden’s day, Death’s trackless passage through the air Goes straight to Heaven from everywhere. Or Hopkinsville or old Khartoum, Glorious alike the good man’s doom. Wide is Christ’s many-mansioned room, And endless Eden’s fadeless bloom, Rescued by Calvary’s mighty cost-- Shall not one precious soul be lost. * * * * * Sleep quietly, O pilgrim guest; Let no ill dreams disturb thy rest. Thou hast blessed many, surely thou art blessed; The merciful shall sleep with peaceful breast, So summer twilights slumber in the West. * * * * *