Pass down the aisle of buried years to-night,
And stand uncovered in that holy place
Where noble structures lift their hallowed height
Beneath a bending Heaven’s chaste embrace,
The fruit of those who scorned the path of ease,
To buckle on the armaments of care
Like to the Son of Man Himself, were these
Who gave themselves for brother men—less fair.
Before the blinding footlights of to-day
We man our parts within Life’s tragic play,
Full mindful of the earnest love and care
That keeps eternal watch and vigil there;
Nor do they need fair monuments and scrolls—
Their memories are deathless in our souls.