The maimed in heart remember not their scars Yet hearing a hurt brother play the flute, May pause and feel again the slow, acute, First anguish of the inward-swinging bars. Then sightless eyes remember dawn and stars The lips know suddenly that they are mute The feet recall they once were resolute And swift upon bright paths that climbing mars. Oh, mind which once was slow to understand And dull to head and careless and morose, Flame now with swift compassion, spark to spark. Lest pity break the heart, stretch forth the hand Through cold and mist and blackness, and draw close A brother who is stumbling through the dark. |