--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Hale, Edward Everett collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 4 number: 8 published: 1901-06 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'Edward Everett Hale, "The Nameless Saints: A Poem," *Improvement Era* 4, no. 8 (June 1901): 589–590.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera0408unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera0408unse start_page: 589 end_page: 590 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1901-06) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera0408unse publication_year: 1901 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1901, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # The Nameless Saints: A Poem THE NAMELESS SAINTS. What was his name? I do not know his name. I only know he heard God's voice and came; Brought all he loved across the sea. — —— 590 IMPROVEMENT ERA. To live and work for God —and me; Felled the ungracious oak, with horrid toil Dragged from the soil The thrice gnarled roots and stubborn rock; With plenty filled the haggard mountain side, And when his work was done, without memorial died. No blaring trumpet 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 monuments and these alone There is no form of bronze and no memorial stone. And I? Is there some desert or some boundless sea Where thou, great God of angels, wilt send me? Some oak for me to rend, some sod For me to break. Some handful of thy corn to take And scatter far afield, 'Till it in turn shall yield Its hundredfold Of graina of gold To feed the happy 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, Father, count me among all faithful souls! Edward Everett Hale.