Page:About people (IA aboutpeople00well).pdf/95

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STRIVING.
89

in keeping at bay, by watchful, tender care, death, which seeks our beloved.

The helpless soldier sang:—

"I lay me down to sleep
With little thought or care
Whether my waking find
Me here—or There!

"A bowing, burdened head,
That only asks to rest
Unquestioning upon
A loving breast.

"My good right hand
Forgets its cunning now,—
To march the weary march
I know not how.

"I am not eager, bold,
Nor strong,—all that is past;
I am ready Not To Do,
At last, at last.

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