Courage and Strength

I don’t see how Henry, pried open for all the world to see, survived.

unless statistics lie he was more brave than me:more blond than you.

Guns aren’t lawful; Nooses give; Gas smells awful; You might as well live.

Courage was mine, and I had mystery, Wisdom was mine, and I had mastery: To miss the march of this retreating world Into vain citadels that are not walled.

If we must die, let it not be like hogs Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot.

Like men we’ll face the murderous, cowardly pack, Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!

Although she feeds me bread of bitterness, And sinks into my throat her tiger’s tooth, Stealing my breath of life, I must confess I love this cultured hell that tests my youth! Her vigor flows like tides into my blood, Giving me strength erect against her hate. Her bigness sweeps my being like a flood.

Some quick to arm, some for adventure, some from fear of weakness, some from fear of censure, some for love of slaughter, in imagination, learning later… some in fear, learning love of slaughter; Died some, pro patria, walked eye-deep in hell believing in old men’s lies, the unbelieving came home, home to a lie.

Lay me on an anvil, O God. Beat me and hammer me into a crowbar. Let me pry loose old walls. Let me lift and loosen old foundations.

All those who try to go it sole alone, Too proud to be beholden for relief, Are absolutely sure to come to grief.

Have I not walked without an upward look Of caution under stars that very well Might not have missed me when they shot and fell? It was a risk I had to take—and took.

Swift has sailed into his rest; Savage indignation there Cannot lacerate his breast, Imitate him if you dare, World-besotted traveler; he Served human liberty.

I am content to live it all again And yet again, if it be life to pitch Into the frog-spawn of a blind man’s ditch.

Nor law, nor duty bade me fight, Nor public men, nor cheering crowds, A lonely impulse of delight Drove to this tumult in the clouds.

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same.

When you’re wounded and left on Afghanistan’s plains, And the women come out to cut up what remains, Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains An’ go to your Gawd like a soldier.

I wish to leave the world By its natural door; In my tomb of green leaves They are to carry me to die. Do not put me in the dark To die like a traitor; I am good, and like a good thing I will die with my face to the sun.

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. In the fell clutch of circumstance, I have not winced nor cried aloud; Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed.

The achieve of, the mastery of the thing!

What of the faith and fire within us Men who march away Ere the barn cocks say Night is growing gray, Leaving all that here can win us.

No soldier in that gallant band Hid half as well as he did. He lay concealed throughout the war, And so preserved his gore, O!

And, as in uffish thought he stood, The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, Came whiffling through the tulgey wood, And burbled as it came! One, two! One, two! And through and through The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! He left it dead, and with its head He went galumphing back. “And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!” He chortled in his joy.

Elysium is as far as to The very nearest Room If in that Room a Friend await Felicity or Doom— What Fortitude the Soul contains, That it can so endure The accent of a coming Foot— The opening of a Door—

We never know how high we are Till we are called to rise And then, if we are true to plan Our statures touch the skies.