God give us men! A time like this demands Strong minds, great hearts, true faith, and ready hands; Men whom the lust of office does not kill; Men whom the spoils of office cannot buy; Men who possess opinions and a will; Men who have honor--men who will not lie. Men who can stand before a demagogue And damn his treacherous flatteries without winking; Tall men, sun-crowned, who live above the fog In public duty and in private thinking; For while the rabble, with their thumb-worn creeds, Their large professions and their little deeds, Mingle in selfish strife, lo! Freedom weeps, Wrong rules the land, and waiting Justice sleeps. --Josiah Gilbert Holland. TO THINE OWN SELF BE TRUE By thine own soul's law learn to live, And if men thwart thee take no heed; And if men hate thee have no care; Sing thou thy song, and do thy deed; Hope thou thy hope, and pray thy prayer, And claim no crown they will not give, Nor bays they grudge thee for thy hair. Keep thou thy soul-won, steadfast oath, And to thy heart be true thy heart; What thy soul teaches learn to know, And play out thine appointed part, And thou shalt reap as thou shalt sow, Nor helped nor hardened in thy growth, To thy full stature thou shalt grow. Fix on the future's goal thy face, And let thy feet be lured to stray Nowhither, but be swift to run, And nowhere tarry by the way, Until at last the end is won, And thou mayst look back from thy place And see thy long day's journey done. --Pakenham Beatty. LORD OF HIMSELF How happy is he born and taught That serveth not another's will; Whose armor is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill. Whose passions not his masters are, Whose soul is still prepared for death; Not tied unto the world with care Of public fame or private breath. Who envies none that chance doth raise, Or vice; who never understood How deepest wounds are given by praise, Nor rules of state but rules of good. Who hath his life from rumors freed, Whose conscience is his strong retreat; Whose state can neither flatterers feed, Nor ruin make accusers great. Who God doth late and early pray More of his grace than gifts to lend; And entertains the harmless day With a well-chosen book or friend. This man is freed from servile bands, Of hope to rise or fear to fall; Lord of himself, though not of lands, And having nothing, yet hath all. --Henry Wotton. High above hate I dwell; O storms, farewell! UNCONQUERED Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul.