THE WORLD'S UNKNOWN by L. D. Santee

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Dec 31, 1901

THE WORLD'S UNKNOWN.

By L. D. Santee

ELDER L. D. SANTEE.

I sing of the ones whose sad faces uplift, Of the names that the sculptor ne'er chiseled in stone, Who were beaten, and distanced, outrun by the swift, Who have failed in the race, and to fame are unknown.

I sing of the poets whose sad lips are dumb, Whose hands are engaged in the struggle for bread, Of those that to highest estate never come; Their dreams are forgotten, their poetry dead.

I sing of the artists whose souls caught the ray Of the gold in the sunset, the morning's bright flush, But alas! hard surroundings brought labor each day, And the toil-hardened hand had no time for the brush.

I sing of the author, his heart filled with pain, Whose chances were wasted, whose talents abused, Stern want chilled the fire of his pen and his brain, And his name is forgotten, his books are unused.

I sing of the many who failed in the race, Who die with their gifts undeveloped, unknown, Whose names on the marble the sculptor ne'er traced, By them was the meed of success never known.

I sing of the bleeding feet, treading time's years, That toiled through the day with a resolute will; There is hope in a holier, happier sphere, Those graces may bloom that on earth have been still.