(MARCH 23, 1909.)
What libellers of destiny
Are these who are afraid
That something yet without a name
Will seize him in the shade?
Though fever-demons may compound
Their most malefic brew,
No fever can defeat the man
Who still has work to do;
Though mighty lions walk about,
Inimical to see,
No lion yet was ever fed
On things that are to be.
Wherefore, and of necessity,
Will he meet what may come;
And from a nation will be missed
As others are from home.
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