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old bones； that are a burden now； Are saying what the man who carried
them Had not the power to say。 Bones in a grave； Cover them as they will
with choking earth； May shout the truth to men who put them there； More
than all orators。 And so； my dear； Since you have cheated wisdom for the
sake Of sorrow； let your sorrow be for you； This last of nights before the
last of days； The lying ghost of what there is of me That is the most alive。
There is no death For me in what they do。 Their death it is They should
heed most when the sun comes again To make them solemn。 There are
some I know Whose eyes will hardly see their occupation； For tears in
them and all for one old man； For some of them will pity this old man；
Who took upon himself the work of God Because he pitied millions。 That
will be For them； I fancy； their compassionate Best way of saying what is
best in them To say； for they can say no more than that； And they can do
no more than what the dawn Of one more day shall give them light enough
To do。 But there are many days to be； And there are many men to give
their blood； As I gave mine for them。 May they come soon！
May they come soon； I say。 And when they come； May all that I have
said unheard be heard； Proving at last； or maybe not no matter What
sort of madness was the part of me That made me strike； whether I found
the mark Or missed it。 Meanwhile； I've a strange content； A patience； and a
vast indifference To what men say of me and what men fear To say。 There
was a work to be begun； And when the Voice； that I have heard so long；
Announced as in a thousand silences An end of preparation； I began The
coming work of death which is to be； That life may be。 There is no other
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way Than the old way of war for a new land That will not know itself and
is tonight A stranger to itself； and to the world A more prodigious upstart
among states Than I was among men； and so shall be Till they are told and
told； and told again； For men are children； waiting to be told； And most of
them are children all their lives。 The good God in his wisdom had them so；
That now and then a madman or a seer May shake them out of their
complacency And shame them into deeds。 The major file See only what
their fathers may have seen； Or may have said they saw when they saw
nothing。 I do not say it matters what they saw。 Now and again to some
lone soul or other God speaks； and there is hanging to be done； As once
there was a burning of our bodies Alive； albeit our souls were sorry fuel。
But now the fires are few； and we are poised Accordingly； for the state's
benefit； A few still minutes between heaven and earth。 The purpose is；
when they have seen enough Of what it is that they are not to see； To pluck
me as an unripe fruit of treason； And then to fling me back to the same
earth Of which they are； as I suppose； the flower Not given to know the
riper fruit that waits For a more comprehensive harvesting。
Yes； may they come； and soon。 Again I say； May they come soon！
before too many of them Shall be the bloody cost of our defection。 When
hell waits on the dawn of a new state； Better it were that hell should not
wait long； Or so it is I see it who should see As far or farther into time
tonight Than they who talk and tremble for me now； Or wish me to those
everlasting fires That are for me no fear。 Too many fires Have sought me
out and seared me to the bone Thereby； for all I know； to temper me For
what was mine to do。 If I did ill What I did well； let men say I was mad；
Or let my name for ever be a question That will not sleep in history。 What
men say I was will cool no cannon； dull no sword； Invalidate no truth。
Meanwhile； I was； And the long train is lighted that shall burn； Though
floods of wrath may drench it； and hot feet May stamp it for a slight time
into smoke That shall blaze up again with growing speed； Until at last a
fiery crash will come To cleanse and shake a wounded hemisphere； And
heal it of a long malignity That angry time discredits and disowns。 Tonight
there are men saying many things； And some who see life in the last of me
Will answer first the coming call to death； For death is what is coming；
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and then life。 I do not say again for the dull sake Of speech what you have
heard me say before； But rather for the sake of all I am； And all God made
of me。 A man to die As I do must have done some other work Than man's
alone。 I was not after glory； But there was glory with me； like a friend；
Throughout those crippling years when friends were few； And fearful to be
known by their own names When mine was vilified for their approval。 Yet
friends they are； and they did what was given Their will to do； they could
have done no more。 I was the one man mad enough； it seems； To do my
work； and now my work is over。 And you； my dear； are not to mourn for
me； Or for your sons； more than a soul should mourn In Paradise； done
with evil and with earth。 There is not much of earth in what remains For
you； and what there may be left of it For your endurance you shall have at
last In peace； without the twinge of any fear For my condition； for I shall
be done With plans and actions that have heretofore Made your days long
and your nights ominous With darkness and the many distances That were
between us。 When the silence comes； I shall in faith be nearer to you then
Than I am now in fact。 What you see now Is only the outside of an old
man； Older than years have made him。 Let him die； And let him be a thing
for little grief。 There was a time for service； and he served； And there is no
more time for anything But a short gratefulness to those who gave Their
scared allegiance to an enterprise That has the name of treason which
will serve As well as any other for the present。 There are some deeds of
men that have no names； And mine may like as not be one of them。 I am
not looking far for names tonight。 The King of Glory was without a name
Until men gave him one； yet there He was； Before we found Him and
affronted Him With numerous ingenuities of evil； Of which one； with His
aid； is to be swept And washed out of the world with fire and blood。
Once I believed it might have come to pass With a small cost of blood；
but I was dreaming Dreaming that I believed。 The Voice I heard When I
left you behind me in the north； To wait there and to wonder and grow
o