II.

'Mid pine woods' whisper and the hum of bees I heard a voice that was not bee nor wood: "Here, in the city, Gold has trampled Good. Come thou, do battle till this strife shall cease!" I left the mill, the meadows and the trees, And came to do the little best I could For these, God's poor; and, oh, my God, I would I had a thousand lives to give for these!

What can one hand do 'gainst a world of wrong? Yet, when the voice said, "Come!" how could I stay? The foe is mighty, and the battle long (And love is sweet, and there are flowers in May), And Good seems weak, and Gold is very strong; But, while these fight, I dare not turn away.