Dear, rash, warm-hearted friend.

So careless of the end,

So worldly-foolish, so divinely-wise,

Who, caring not one jot

For place, gave all you'd got

To help your lesser fellow-men to rise.

Swift-footed, fleeter yet

Of heart. Swift to forget

The petty spite that life or men could show you :

Your last long race is won.

But beyond the sound of gun

You laugh and help men onward — if I know you.

Oh still you laugh, and walk,
And sing and frankly talk
(To angels) of the matters that amused you
In this bitter-sweet of life,
And we who keep its strife,
Take comfort in the thought how God has used
you.