The Story of the Innumerable Company, and Other Sketches. David Starr Jordan

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      _Men told me, Lord, it was a vale of tears

       Where Thou hast placed me, wickedness and woe

       My twain companions whereso I might go;

       That I through ten and threescore weary years

       Should stumble on beset by pains and fears,

       Fierce conflict round me, passions hot within,

       Enjoyment brief and fatal but in sin.

       When all was ended then should I demand

       Full compensation from thine austere hand:

       For, 'tis thy pleasure, all temptation past,

       To be not just but generous at last._

      _Lord, here am I, my threescore years and ten

       All counted to the full; I've fought thy fight,

       Crossed thy dark valleys, scaled thy rocks' harsh height,

       Borne all the burdens Thou dost lay on men

       With hand unsparing threescore years and ten.

       Before Thee now I make my claim, O Lord,--

       What shall I pray Thee as a meet reward?_

      _I ask for nothing. Let the balance fall!

       All that I am or know or may confess

       But swells the weight of mine indebtedness;

       Burdens and sorrows stand transfigured all;

       Thy hand's rude buffet turns to a caress,

       For Love, with all the rest. Thou gavest me here,

       And Love is Heaven's very atmosphere,

       Lo, I have dwelt with Thee, Lord. Let me die.

       I could no more through all eternity._