O living pictures of the dead,
 O songs without a sound,
 O fellowship whose phantom  tread
 Hallows a phantom  ground --
 How in a gleam have these  revealed
 The faith we had not found.

 We have sought God in a cloudy Heaven,
 We have passed by God on earth:
 His seven sins and his sorrows  seven,
 His wayworn mood and mirth,
 Like a ragged cloak have hid  from us
 The secret of his birth.

 Brother of men, when now I see
 The lads go forth in line,
 Thou knowest my heart is hungry in me
 As for thy bread and wine;
 Thou knowest my heart is  bowed in me
 To take their death for  mine.

 By:  Henry Newbolt

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