Classic Poem

To you, poor offering of a lowly cup,
My heart, here lifted up.
To you, and to the undying starlight shed
From your far-following hearts, O mothers of the dead.
O lovers of the dead, who died alone
For Life's bright sake!
For men unborn and far-off stranger kin;
Storming the hells of hate, to climb and take
The morning heights unwon,—
Where Life shall have its own;
Where Love shall have its own;
And freemen of all breath shall gather in
The harvest of the Sun.