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Beaten, discouraged with failure,
    Forsaken, betrayed—
Yet I ask for no help and no quarter,
    I yield neither banner nor blade.

For he who 1s armed, though defeated,
    May yet hold his post,
And a flag still unfurled is the signal
    That hope is not lost.

And the night is but truce to day's struggle,
    A rift in the pain;
I must keep my high place on the ramparts—
    For tomorrow we fight again.


FRAGMENTS
A DESERT place, and over it
The sunset shadows trailing slow,
And all that weary multitude—
Foregathered from the plain below—
Caught in the radiant after-glow.

He raised his eyes, the Nazarene
Who by a miracle had fed
The thousands in the wilderness,
And: "Gather up the broken bread,
The fragments of the feast," He said.

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