(March 23, 1909.)

What libellers of destiny Are these who are afraid That something yet without a name Will seize him in the shade?

Though fever-demons may compound Their most malefic brew, No fever can defeat the man Who still has work to do;

Though mighty lions walk about, Inimical to see, No lion yet was ever fed On things that are to be.

Wherefore, and of necessity, Will he meet what may come; And from a nation will be missed As others are from home.