He might have won the highest guerdon that heaven to earth can give,
For whoso falleth for justice—dying, he yet shall live.
He might have left us his memory to flame as a beacon light,
When clouds of the false world’s raising shut the stars of heaven from sight.
I ’ve borne full many a sorrow, I ’ve suffered many a loss—
But now, with a strange, new anguish, I carry this last dread cross;
For of this be sure, my dearest, whatever thy life befall,
The cross that our own hands fashion is the heaviest cross of all.
Heavy...
