CHAMPIONS of men with brawny fist and lung,
You righteous! with eyes oped and utterance terse,
Whose greed of energies would fain disperse
Ere any mould be cast, or roundel sung,
Your gentler brothers still at play among
The smirch and jangle of the universe,
Mere fool-blind trespassers for you to curse,
The Sabbath-breakers, the unchristened young;—
Peace! These, too, know: these are as ye employed,
Nor of laborious help and value void,
Living; who, faithful to their fellows’ need,
Fling life away for truth, art, fatherland,
Like a gold largess from a princely hand,
Without one trading thought of heavenly meed.