| |
| THREE captains went to Indian wars, | |
| And only one returned: | |
| Their mate of yore, he singly wore | |
| The laurels all had earned. | |
| |
| At home he sought the ancient aisle | 5 |
| Wherein, untrumped of fame, | |
| The three had sat in pupilage, | |
| And each had carved his name. | |
| |
| The names, rough-hewn, of equal size, | |
| Stood on the panel still; | 10 |
| Unequal since.—“’Twas theirs to aim, | |
| Mine was it to fulfil!” | |
| |
| —“Who saves his life shall lose it, friends!” | |
| Outspake the preacher then, | |
| Unweeting he his listener, who | 15 |
| Looked at the names again. | |
| |
| That he had come and they’d been stayed, | |
| ’Twas but the chance of war: | |
| Another chance, and they’d sat here, | |
| And he had lain afar. | 20 |
| |
| Yet saw he something in the lives | |
| Of those who’d ceased to live | |
| That rounded them with majesty | |
| Which living failed to give. | |
| |
| Transcendent triumph in return | 25 |
| No longer lit his brain; | |
| Transcendence rayed the distant urn | |
| Where slept the fallen twain. | |
| |
