Classic Poem

The foot set firm, — the hand upon the hilt, —
The warrior-gaze, — as innocent of fear
As any maid's of shame, — which, past the guilt
And blood and battle, sees the triumph clear:

Stand so in bronze! — large to thy levelled eye,
In the supreme imperial peril dawning,
" Hoc signo vinces " shines upon the sky;
And calm as one who knows his Master's warning:

Stand thou in bronze! — stand! what thou wert, a rock
Whereon Rebellion's yeasty billows breaking,
Drove wave on wave, — dashed high, — and from the shock
Fell back in shattered foam; — thyself unshaking:

So stand! — the busy feet of men go by thee,
Each one to-day the safer for that sword;
Meeanee's just and valiant chief is nigh thee,
Palmerston, Beaconsfield, the great Sea-lord, —

Well met in some far-off serenest session,
The unimpassioned rest of great men gone;
And here together set — love's poor profession! —
In storied effigy and sculptured stone.

Ah! speaking stone, and bronze, cunningly graven
To show these Champions of the English name,
Are men's hearts such, that knave and fool and craven
Can pass ye daily, and be still the same?

But, true and faithful servant! somewhere plaining
That labor multiplies and wage is none,
Read Havelock's history, and thereby gaining
The comfort of his courage, copy one

Who all life's chilly spring and summer dreary
Wrought in pure patience what he found to do,
Possessing his own soul — not once a-weary —
Content, because God was contented too.