...

Rend hearts and rend not garments for our sins;

Gird sackcloth not on body but on soul;

Grovel in dust with faces toward the goal

Nor won, nor neared: he only laughs who wins.

Not neared the goal, the race too late begins;

Or left undone, we have yet to do the whole;

The sun is hurrying west and toward the pole

Where darkness waits for earth with all her kins.

Let us to-day, while it is called to-day,

Set out, if utmost speed may yet avail —

The shadows lengthen and the light grows pale:

For who through darkness and the shadow of death,

Darkness that may be felt, shall find a way,

Blind-eyed, deaf-eared, and choked with failing breath?