(A poem for a triumphant returned missionary:)

Conquest

Two years ago the stubble leered at him,
And great gray boulders stood to bar the way.
Old dying trees with twisted trunk and limb
Snarled in defiance like wild beasts at bay.

Others from time to time had scanned the space,
But had not dared the struggle to begin.
So Tangled were the growths that ruled the place,
That few who passed it by would venture in.

And then he came and vowed to clear the land.
With drag and chain he slowly inched his way.
At night some new attack he sat and planned.
At dawn undaunted he resumed the fray.

I saw him once in battle and I thought
His courage and patience all in vain.
Today I passed the field whereon he fought,
And it was flaming gold with ripening grain.