THOSE whom nor power, nor lying faith, nor toil, Nor custom, queen of many slaves, makes blind, Have ever grieved that man should be the spoil Of his own weakness, and with earnest mind Fed hopes of its redemption; these recur Chastened by deathful victory now, and find Foundations in this foulest age, and stir Me whom they cheer to be their minister. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MY HAPPINESS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DOMESDAY BOOK: LILLI ALM by EDGAR LEE MASTERS TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN: THE THIRD DAY: SCANDERBERG by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW RECONCILIATION by GEORGE WILLIAM RUSSELL TO A WITHERED ROSE by JOHN KENDRICK BANGS LINES TO MR. WYNCH ON HIS FORTH-FIFTH BIRTHDAY by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |