⁠Knowing such sacred beauty fills their sleep,
⁠Shall we yet mourn, or wish they might awaken
⁠To find the golden peace so far debased?
⁠Should we not rather pray that they may keep
⁠Their shining vision spotless, undefaced,
⁠Until the world, repentant and redeemed,
⁠Grow to the measure of the one they dreamed?

So let them rest.
They gave for us their dearest and their best;
⁠They keep the holiest. Yet for their giving
⁠Our fittest tribute is not grief and tears,
⁠But the same ardent vision in our living
⁠As that which shone, compelling, in their eyes
⁠Uncowed by death and all his dreadful fears.
⁠Then, when at last these glorious dreamers rise,
⁠The world we keep for them might almost seem
⁠The living substance of their lofty dream!

⁠How white the crosses—white and small!