Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, DISCOVERERS; IN MEMORY OF CHRISTIAN ENDEAVORERS WHO DIED, by AMOS RUSSEL WELLS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

DISCOVERERS; IN MEMORY OF CHRISTIAN ENDEAVORERS WHO DIED, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: High glory his who walks where god alone
Last Line: For god and man, for liberty and right.
Subject(s): Christianity; World War I; First World War


High glory his who walks where God alone
The mystic way has known,
Who pierces first the mountain solitudes,
Treads first the echoing vaults of some vast caves,
Conquers the rage of undefeated waves,
Or daringly intrudes
Where immemorial arctic stillness broods
Above Death's timeless throne.

Praise, praise to him whose gallant mind
Knows how to find
New roads of science, new domains of art,
New avenues of kingly thought,
New mines whence happy myriads have brought
Balm to the senses, courage to the heart,
Comforts to all mankind.

But glory, praise, and honor nobler far
To these whose guiding star
Rose in the east, and pointed them the way
To earth's most cruel fray,
Supreme of horrors, blackest pit of night,
War of the wrong and right.

These also with exploring feet have trod
Alone with God;
These also up to virgin heights have pressed,
As ardent pioneers
Have mastered fears,
And learned the wilderness by paths unguessed.
These too have reached the pole,
Have urged their dauntless soul
Through unimagined silences of snow
Where only nightwinds go,
Friendless and solitary and forgot
In that unhallowed spot.
No way that hero feet have trod alone
Since the dim dawn of time,
No venturing sublime,
But these young souls invincibly have known.

And they have found for us
Domains all-glorious,
Kingdoms of justice, empires of new good,
Sweet realms of brotherhood.
Yea, they have seen and caught
God's very central thought,
The truth of love supreme in sacrifice.
And they have paid the price,
The highest price wherewith the highest good is bought.

Massed in their swarming millions, each has walked
In lonely places;
Each in his own high solitude has talked
With angel faces;
Each has a separate conquest, and as each returns
His heart uniquely burns.

As each returns -- but ah! we sing to-day
Those who will not come back;
We drape our flags with black,
And waft our mournful tribute far away.

And yet -- are they not here?
For truth and freedom know not far or near,
The world is one
When glorious deeds are done,
And death itself is slain
By those that die a deathless end to gain.

Not in the sacred sod
Of battle-harried France alone with God
Are they asleep, but here, with God alive,
Their spirits gladly strive,
Uphold their proud beloved ones, proudly see
The world that they made free.

By every broken chain,
By every freedman, free man to remain,
By every darkened nation led to light,
By every baffled memory of wrong,
By every new-born permanence of right,
By every weakness learning to be strong,
Our fallen heroes rise,
Come from their graves with happy eyes,
And join the welcoming throng.

We clasp their comrade hands;
We catch from them the splendor of their mood;
Our spirit understands
What they have tested and have found it good;
And ours shall be with them henceforth to fight
For God and man, for liberty and right.





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