Profit and Loss
Each day a new sword flashes in the van;
Another leader, brave to do or die,
Comes forth, full– furnished for the strife whereby
He gains his growth and stature as a man.
Each day our world, that under the black ban
Of ignorant custom for so long did lie,
Grows bright and brighter, like a clearing sky,
More good and lovely in its wondrous plan.
Yet oh! how few the saved, how small the gain,
How poor the profit as against the cost—
The waste of life, divinely vast and fair,
Potential in starved soul and unfed brain—
The powers that might have been and might be—lost
Only for want of common food and air!
