Your ShelfYour Projects

The Nameless Saints

25%

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Jan 18, 1912

FromReview and Herald, Vol. 89, No. 3.

Read the full edition

The Nameless Saints

By Edward Everett Hale

WHAT was his name? I do not know his name. I only know he heard God's voice and came, Brought all he had across the sea To live and work for God and me; Felled the ungracious oak; Dragged from the soil With horrid toil The thrice-gnarled roots and stubborn rock; With plenty piled the haggard mountain-side; And at the end, without memorial, died. No blaring trumpets sounded out his fame, He lived, he died; I do not know his name.
No form of bronze and no memorial stones Show me the place where lie his moldering bones. Only a cheerful city stands, Builded by his hardened hands. Only ten thousand homes Where every day The cheerful play Of love and hope and courage comes. These are his monument, and these alone. There is no form of bronze and no memorial stone.
And I? Is there some desert or some pathless sea Where thou, good God of angels, wilt send me? Some oak for me to rend? some sod, Some rock, for me to break? Some handful of thy corn to take And scatter far afield, Till it, in turn, shall yield Its hundredfold Of grains of gold To feed the waiting children of my God? Show me the desert, Father, or the sea. Is it thine enterprise? Great God, send me. And though this body lie where ocean rolls, Count me among thy faithful souls. —Edward Everett Hale.