VICTORY
I have fought; but what honor in fighting?—
There are many who win;
The beasts do as much, even righting
A wrong that has been.
Yet I rise ’bove the warfare, and clinging
To Love ’midst the fray,
Bring out of it all a soul singing,
A heart that can pray.
I have toiled; but why laud for my toiling?—
There are legions who slave,
Hearts calloused, souls dulled by the moiling
From cradle to grave.
Yet while wearied with burdens, I’m faring
Afar—soul awing,
Till my freed spirit soars, and is wearing
The freshness of Spring.
I have dwelt in the darkness of sorrow;
Pity not,—neither praise
Because I endured: recks the morrow
Of dead yesterdays?
Full many weep, seeing no glimmer
Of Light to be born;
But I smile through the tear-drops that shimmer
With promise of morn.
So extol me not for my burden,
My striving, nor pain;
Remember not these,—but the guerdon
I strove to attain;
That I fought, when needs must,—yet believing
In Love as man’s goal,
And kept sweet ’neath the lash, that is leaving
No scar on my soul.