OTHERS there have been of the great Ones dead Who still met Fortune with uplifted head, Still to the blackest morn, Returning scorn for scorn; Others there were from whom no sorest fate Could wring one cry of misery or hate, Faring, with set lips prest, Silent, towards their rest; But thou, as dauntless, as unvanquished, thou, With equal mind, and with unclouded brow, Spared'st not to welcome still The morrow, good or ill; And hastening forward with unslackened pace Still to the Unknown turned a cheery face, Then, at the end of strife, Thanked Life for life. |