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Robert Nichols - Nearer
Work rating: Low

Nearer and ever nearer...	 
My body, tired but tense,	 
Hovers `twixt vague pleasure	 
And tremulous confidence.	 
  
Arms to have and to use them	         
And a soul to be made	 
Worthy, if not worthy;	 
If afraid, unafraid.	 
  
To endure for a little,	 
To endure and have done:	  
Men I love about me,	 
Over me the sun!	 
  
And should at last suddenly	 
Fly the speeding death,	 
The four great quarters of heaven	 
Receive this littlle  breath.
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