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Poem	I saw a King, who spent his life to weave Into a nation all his great heart thought, Unsatisfied until he should achieve The grand ideal that his manhood sought; Yet as he saw the end within his reach, Death took the sceptre from his failing hand, And all men said, "He gave his life to teach The task of honour to a sordid land!" Within his gates I saw, through all those years, One at his humble toil with cheery face, Whom (being dead) the children, half in tears, Remembered oft, and missed him from his place. If he be greater that his people blessed Than he the children loved, God knoweth best.
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