Chapter III: Foreword

_River that rolls to the restless deep
From sylvan-born placidity,
Stained issue of the undefiled
By your own wayward will exiled
From the crystal lap of a land-locked sea,_

_Read me the meaning of your mood.
The waters murmur as they flow,
"Strife is the law by which we live;
Stagnation, our alternative:
This is the only truth we know."_

_The tides of mortal toilers meet
To merge their rhythms in bloody fray,
And, wave to wave, their armies call--
Nay, summon us that we shall all
Assume the role we choose to play._

_So, at the cry, in loyal breasts,
As smaller self-concern recedes,
Still burns the old Achillean fire,
Still eager questing souls desire
Not life but living, not days but deeds._