I ask no sheltered repose;
I go where struggle is rife,
No grub at the heart of the rose,
No worm in the apple of life.

This soul shall not stagnate to peace,
But 'mid the battle debris
Shall find in danger release
To wind and star-drift and sea;

Shall breathe the ozone of the height,
Forsake the dark roads it has trod,
Push on to the centre of light
In joy of adventure with God.