Classic Poem

Out of the tyranny of moods we must wander
Into the land of still, calm thought;
Life is so hard, no one may squander
Aught of the might whereby is wrought
The realization with anguish bought.

This is the part of the coward and trembler,
To whiten whenever the trouble comes;
This is the part of the basest dissembler,
To falter and quake when the drooped head hums
With the noise of the enemy's jeering drums.

The scene of life's tasks makes little matter;
A failure here may be victory there;
But the soul must grow used to the hateful clatter
Of diverse aims, that fills the air
Through which we journey to summits fair.

And these shine on in eternal sunlight,
Though mists obscure them from our view;
They shine in the splendor of the mystical One Light,
The light of Love, the light of the True;
Our eyes have seen them when skies were blue.

They shine in the soul; man holds them within him;
They shine though the outmost be dark and chill;
They seem to beckon as though they would win him
To climb their sides; all is done if his will
Swerve him to ascend the utmost hill.