Classic Poem

Child, you were born with fighting in your blood,
Your first breath was a struggle, sharp and swift;
Yet from the tumult and the darkening flood,
Child, you must lift.

Splendid it is to hurl against the strong
Bulwarks of ignorance a stronger stuff;
Splendid to challenge prejudice and wrong
But not enough.

Yes, when your angry faith defeats the foe;
And, when the last, deep, thundering growl is stilled,
With the same arms that stabbed and brought them low,
Child, you must build!

Yet you shall hear the soundless bugles call;
And there shall be fresh wars and no release.
And you shall fight the hardest fight of all —
Even in peace.

There shall be little rest and great delight;
And, struggling still, your banner shall ascend,
Battling for beauty — that exalted fight
Which has no end.