The world will know enough about us, if it know this much: and even if the world know it not, it suffices so long as God knows it. (Christina Rossetti, Time Flies: A Reading Diary) In Portugal a statue stands Where with one hand he holds a flame And with the other he lifts high Something which we cannot see. The others have their glory-tales Of crucifixions upside-down, Beheadings, trips to India, And maybe Spain. He has none. Was he this James or that? we ask, And scarcely can we hope for reply. Our deepest diggings only find A few dim guesses and blind leads. Yet this we know: He walked in footsteps which we all, The greatest and the least of us, Would give a thousand lives to walk, And where he lives now he’ll rejoice And lift his empty hands up high To raise aloft the wondrous news That one was great while he was less.