Patrick Henderson 11 a.m., Oct. 25
- Now, God be thanked Who has matched us with His hour,
- And caught our youth, and wakened us from sleeping,
- With hand made sure, clear eye, and sharpened power,
- To turn, as swimmers into cleanness leaping,
- Glad from a world grown old and cold and weary,
- Leave the sick hearts that honor could not move,
- And half-men, and their dirty songs and dreary,
- And all the little emptiness of love!
- Oh! we, who have known shame, we have found release there,
- Where there’s no ill, no grief, but sleep has mending,
- Naught broken save this body, lost but breath;
- Nothing to shake the laughing heart’s long peace there
- But only agony, and that has ending;
- And the worst friend and enemy is but Death.