TO MR. AND MRS. FRANCIS PATRICK GARVAN It is not that you greatly care For measured words or names of praise, And brows, I think of laurel bare Would suit as well your quiet ways.
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If war and clamor thrust amain, At frontiers of the varying lands, You conquer the frontiers of pain Wffh tenderness and healing hands,
These clanging days of street and mart, And quest of gathering and power,
Bringing your aid that one may learn, That one may do, another know, That light from out the dark may turn Upon the road that we must go.
Would bring t o you their grateful word, Because the time's exacting need, Beyond the rest you saw and heard, Suiting the vision to the deed.
Beyond this noon, this little time, This brief horizon of today, This seeking hour, this narrow clime, In the dim land of far-away.
But they who bid you stand apart
For honor in this crowded hour,
Some one shall breathe the goodly air, And some one sing the sunshine through, And some one shall go lwsed from care, Because of you.
