The roar and rush of life sweeps on; <br />Still shines the sun as once it shone: <br />Men reap and sow and live and toil <br />And plan for power and scheme for spoil. <br />What reeks the world in field or street?— <br />One heart has ceased to beat. <br />But She to whom in all the lands <br />The toilers stretch beseeching hands— <br />Democracy, the Soul of all, <br />Marks where her faithful servants fall. <br />They seek not things that others seek <br />Who battle for the weak. <br /> <br />Her yoke is heavy to be borne, <br />Her bitter paths are choked with thorn, <br />But glorious shines, through mist and haze, <br />The splendour of her coming days. <br />Our loftiest tribute shall be then, <br />“He served his fellow-men.”<br /><br />George Essex Evans<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-dead-democrat/
