| |
| SO noble that he cannot see | |
| He stands in aught above the rest, | |
| But does his greatness easily, | |
| And mounts his scaffold with a jest; | |
| |
| Not vaunting any daily death, | 5 |
| Because he scorns the thing that dies, | |
| And not in love with any breath | |
| That might proclaim him grand or wise. | |
| |
| Not much concerned with schemes that show | |
| The counterchange of weak with strong, | 10 |
| But never passing by a woe, | |
| Nor sitting still to watch a wrong. | |
| |
| Of all hearts careful save his own; | |
| Most tender when he suffers most; | |
| Wont, if a foe must be o’erthrown, | 15 |
| To count, but never grudge the cost. | |
| |
| Sharp insight, severing with a glance | |
| Greater from less, from substance shade; | |
| Faith, in gross darkness, of mischance | |
| Unable to be much afraid; | 20 |
| |
| Out-looking eyes that seek and scan, | |
| Ready to love what they behold; | |
| Quick reverence for his brother-man; | |
| Quick sense where gilding is not gold. | |
| |
| Such impulse of his self-control, | 25 |
| It seems a voluntary grace, | |
| The careless grandeur of a soul | |
| That holds no mirror to its face. | |
| |
| True sympathy, a light that grows | |
| And broadens like the summer morn’s; | 30 |
| A hope that trusts before it knows, | |
| Being out of tune with all the scorns. | |
| |
| On-moving, temperately intent | |
| On radiant ends by means as bright, | |
| And never cautious, but content | 35 |
| With all the bitter fruits of right. | |
| |
| Under this shade the tired may lie, | |
| Worn with the greatness of their way; | |
| Under this shield the brave may die, | |
| Aware that they have won the day. | 40 |
| |
| For such a leader lifts his times | |
| Out of the limits of the night, | |
| And, falling grandly, while he climbs, | |
| Falls with his face toward the height. | |
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