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George Essex Evans - “But the Greatest of These is Charity”
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White faces turn to us again
    Sad eyes from out their veils of clay:
Strength stricken low, and hopeless pain,
                Haunt us to-day. 
Their wild eyes burn across our sleep:
    They haunt us in the busy throng
With silent eloquence, more deep
                Than word or song. 

Give: we are pawns upon the board;
    We see not how Fate’s dice are thrown.
The life swung by a trembling cord
                Might be your own. 

Give: ’twill be meted back to thee
    When Death who waits, soe’er we roam,
Withdraws the veil that we may see
                The Lights of Home.
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