I. FOR thee we carve no statue: thou hast willed Other memorial; a chalice bright Wrought of the courage doubt could not affright, Nor death dishearten, with love's offering filled, Not without anguish; that thy work, once thrilled With aspiration, hope, and failure, might Be made a means of strength in some hard fight, New force from thine endurance be distilled. And what was fashioned of thy pain will slake In mortal suffering much immortal thirst. Thine eyes beheld but man:—a hand divine Of every cup so offered yet will make, Though it be marred by many a flaw at first, An altar-cup to hold the sacred wine. II. NOT in a dim cool temple out of sight Is this fair cup from human gaze withheld— Not for such purpose did the Master weld Its ample curves, and make it brim with light, And on its border curious letters write That must with patient, reverent care be spelled: But, where life's fierce sirocco is not quelled, With living water gleams the chalice bright. Blind to the Rock that for their thirst was rent, Under whose shadow in that weary land The water turns to wine in sacrament, The travellers, dazzled by the desert sand And with the dreary journey well-nigh spent, Still pass the 'cup of strength' from hand to hand. |