HEROES by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON

"MOTHER, I read of heroes, kings,
Of folk with trappings, folk with wings;
Where live they, will they ever come
To see me in my little home?
@3Are@1 there such beings, fair and wise,
And have they feet and hands and eyes?"

"My child, you saw but yesterday
A hero: when he came this way
You gave him scarce a single glance;
He wore no crown, he bore no lance,
He seemed but made of common clay.

"And just an hour ago, there stood
Before you -- Oh, so great and good!
One who will sit with God for aye,
When the brief years are rolled away."

"But, mother, in the books I read
They walk with kings, they do indeed;
How @3could@1 they come and go, and I
Not know that they were passing by?"

"The tales are true, my dear, there be
Kings, heroes, saints, in history;
Romance and legend fitly tell
Of what they did, and what their spell;
Their deeds are bright like burnished gold,
In chronicles and records old."

"How could I miss their being here?"

"They did not seem like saints, my dear,
Nor heroes, when they drew so near."

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