Poems with Power to Strengthen the Soul Part 3

The harder you're thrown, why, the higher you bounce; Be proud of your blackened eye!

It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts; It's how did you fight--and why?

And though you be done to the death, what then?

If you battled the best you could.

If you played your part in the world of men, Why, the Critic will call it good.

Death comes with a crawl or comes with a pounce, And whether he's slow or spry, It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts, But only--how did you die?

--Edmund Vance Cooke.

LUTHER

That which he knew he uttered, Conviction made him strong; And with undaunted courage He faced and fought the wrong.

No power on earth could silence him Whom love and faith made brave; And though four hundred years have gone Men strew with flowers his grave.

A frail child born to poverty, A German miner's son; A poor monk searching in his cell, What honors he has won!

The nations crown him faithful, A man whom truth made free; G.o.d give us for these easier times More men as real as he!

--Marianne Farningham.

THE MARTYRS

Flung to the heedless winds, Or on the waters cast, The martyrs' ashes, watched, Shall gathered be at last; And from that scattered dust, Around us and abroad, Shall spring a plenteous seed Of witnesses for G.o.d.

The Father hath received Their latest living breath; And vain is Satan's boast Of victory in their death; Still, still, though dead, they speak, And, trumpet-tongued, proclaim To many a wakening land, The one availing name.

--Martin Luther, tr. by John A. Messenger.

Stainless soldier on the walls, Knowing this--and knows no more-- Whoever fights, whoever falls, Justice conquers evermore, Justice after as before; And he who battles on her side, G.o.d, though he were ten times slain, Crowns him victor glorified, Victor over death and pain.

--Ralph Waldo Emerson.

ETERNAL JUSTICE

The man is thought a knave, or fool, Or bigot, plotting crime, Who, for the advancement of his kind, Is wiser than his time.

For him the hemlock shall distil; For him the axe be bared; For him the gibbet shall be built; For him the stake prepared.

Him shall the scorn and wrath of men Pursue with deadly aim; And malice, envy, spite, and lies, Shall desecrate his name.

But Truth shall conquer at the last, For round and round we run; And ever the Right comes uppermost, And ever is Justice done.

Pace through thy cell, old Socrates, Cheerily to and fro; Trust to the impulse of thy soul, And let the poison flow.

They may shatter to earth the lamp of clay That holds a light divine, But they cannot quench the fire of thought By any such deadly wine.

They cannot blot thy spoken words From the memory of man By all the poison ever was brewed Since time its course began.

To-day abhorred, to-morrow adored, For round and round we run, And ever the Truth comes uppermost, And ever is Justice done.

Plod in thy cave, gray anchorite; Be wiser than thy peers; Augment the range of human power, And trust to coming years.

They may call thee wizard, and monk accursed, And load thee with dispraise; Thou wert born five hundred years too soon For the comfort of thy days; But not too soon for human kind.

Time hath reward in store; And the demons of our sires become The saints that we adore.

The blind can see, the slave is lord, So round and round we run; And ever the Wrong is proved to be wrong And ever is Justice done.

Keep, Galileo, to thy thought, And nerve thy soul to bear; They may gloat o'er the senseless words they wring From the pangs of thy despair; They may veil their eyes, but they cannot hide The sun's meridian glow; The heel of a priest may tread thee down And a tyrant work thee woe; But never a truth has been destroyed; They may curse it and call it crime; Pervert and betray, or slander and slay Its teachers for a time.

But the suns.h.i.+ne aye shall light the sky, As round and round we run; And the Truth shall ever come uppermost, And Justice shall be done.

And live there now such men as these-- With thoughts like the great of old?

Many have died in their misery, And left their thought untold; And many live, and are ranked as mad, And are placed in the cold world's ban, For sending their bright, far-seeing souls Three centuries in the van.

They toil in penury and grief, Unknown, if not maligned; Forlorn, forlorn, bearing the scorn Of the meanest of mankind!

But yet the world goes round and round, And the genial seasons run; And ever the Truth comes uppermost, And ever is Justice done.

--Charles Mackay.

We cannot kindle when we will The fire which in the heart resides.

The spirit bloweth and is still; In mystery our soul abides: But tasks in hours of insight willed Can be through hours of gloom fulfilled.

With aching hands and bleeding feet We dig and heap, lay stone on stone; We bear the burden and the heat Of the long day, and wish 'twere done.

Not till the hours of light return, All we have built do we discern.

--Matthew Arnold.

WHAT MAKES A HERO?

What makes a hero?--not success, not fame, Inebriate merchants, and the loud acclaim Of glutted avarice--caps tossed up in air, Or pen of journalist with flourish fair; Bells pealed, stars, ribbons, and a t.i.tular name-- These, though his rightful tribute, he can spare; His rightful tribute, not his end or aim, Or true reward; for never yet did these Refresh the soul, or set the heart at ease.

What makes a hero?--An heroic mind, Expressed in action, in endurance proved.

And if there be preeminence of right, Derived through pain well suffered, to the height Of rank heroic, 'tis to bear unmoved Not toil, not risk, not rage of sea or wind, Not the brute fury of barbarians blind, But worse--ingrat.i.tude and poisonous darts, Launched by the country he had served and loved.

This, with a free, unclouded spirit pure, This, in the strength of silence to endure, A dignity to n.o.ble deeds imparts Beyond the gauds and trappings of renown; This is the hero's complement and crown; This missed, one struggle had been wanting still-- One glorious triumph of the heroic will, One self-approval in his heart of hearts.

--Henry Taylor.

As the bird trims her to the gale I trim myself to the storm of time; I man the rudder, reef the sail, Obey the voice at eve obeyed at prime; "Lowly faithful banish fear, Right onward drive unharmed; The port, well worth the cruise, is near, And every wave is charmed."

--Ralph Waldo Emerson.

DEMAND FOR MEN

The world wants men--large-hearted, manly men; Men who shall join its chorus and prolong The psalm of labor, and the psalm of love.

The times want scholars--scholars who shall shape The doubtful destinies of dubious years, And land the ark that bears our country's good Safe on some peaceful Ararat at last.

The age wants heroes--heroes who shall dare To struggle in the solid ranks of truth; To clutch the monster error by the throat; To bear opinion to a loftier seat; To blot the era of oppression out, And lead a universal freedom on.

And heaven wants souls--fresh and capacious souls; To taste its raptures, and expand, like flowers, Beneath the glory of its central sun.

It wants fresh souls--not lean and shrivelled ones; It wants fresh souls, my brother, give it thine.

If thou indeed wilt be what scholars should; If thou wilt be a hero, and wilt strive To help thy fellow and exalt thyself, Thy feet at last shall stand on jasper floors; Thy heart, at last, shall seem a thousand hearts-- Each single heart with myriad raptures filled-- While thou shalt sit with princes and with kings, Rich in the jewel of a ransomed soul.

Blessed are they who die for G.o.d, And earn the martyr's crown of light; Yet he who lives for G.o.d may be A greater conqueror in his sight.