Envoy

I Whose furthest footstep never strayed Beyond the village of his birth, Is but a lodger for the night In this old wayside inn of earth. Tomorrow he shall tae his pack, And set outfor the ways beond, n the old trail from star to star, An alien and a vagabond. II If any record of our names Be blown about the hills of time, Let no one sunder us in death,-- The man of paint, the man of rhyme. Of all our good, of all our bad, This one thing only is of worth,-- We held the league of heart to heart The only purpose of the earth.