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II
- ’Mid pine woods’ whisper and the hum of bees
- I heard a voice that was not bee nor wood:
- ’Here, in the city, Gold has trampled Good.
- Come thou, do battle till this strife shall cease!’
- I left the mill, the meadows and the trees,
- And came to do the little best I could
- For these, God’s poor; and, oh, my God, I would
- I had a thousand lives to give for these!
- What can one hand do ’gainst a world of wrong?
- Yet, when the voice said, ‘Come!’ how could I stay?
- The foe is mighty, and the battle long
- (And love is sweet, and there are flowers in May),
- And Good seems weak, and Gold is very strong;
- But, while these fight, I dare not turn away.
