Classic Poem

Oh , Masters, you who rule the world,
— Will you not wait with me awhile,
When swords are sheathed and sails are furled,
— And all the fields with harvest smile?
I would not waste your time for long,
— I ask you but, when you are tired,
To read how by the weak, the strong
— Are weighed and worshiped and desired.

When weary of the Mart, the Loom,
— The Withering-house, the Riffle-blocks,
The Barrack-square, the Engine-room,
— The pick-axe, ringing on the rocks, —
When tents are pitched and work is done,
— While restful twilight broods above,
By fresh-lit lamp, or dying sun,
— See in my songs how women love.

We shared your lonely watch by night,
— We knew you faithful at the helm,
Our thoughts went with you through the fight
— That saved a soul, — or wrecked a realm:
Ah, how our hearts leapt forth to you,
— In pride and joy, when you prevailed,
And when you died, serene and true:
— — We wept in silence when you failed!

— — Oh, brain, that did not gain the gold!
— — — Oh, arm, that could not wield the sword,
— — Here is the love, that is not sold,
— — — Here are the hearts tOhail you Lord!

You played and lost the game? What then?
— The rules are harsh and hard, we know;
You, still, oh, brothers, are the men
— Whom we in secret reverence so.
Your work was waste? Maybe your share
— Lay in the hour you laughed and kissed;
Who knows but that your son shall wear
— The laurels that his father missed?

Ay, you who win, and you who lose,
— Whether you triumph, — or despair, —
When your returning footsteps choose
— The homeward track, our love is there.
For, since the world is ordered thus,
— To you, the fame, the stress, the sword,
We can but wait, until to us
— You give yourselves, for our reward.

To Whaler's deck and Coral beach,
— To lonely Ranch and Frontier-Fort,
Beyond the narrow bounds of speech
— I lay the cable of my thought.
I fain would send my thanks to you,
— (Though who am I, to give you praise?)
Since what you are, and work you do
— Are lessons for our easier ways.

— — 'Neath alien stars your camp-fires glow,
— — — I know you not, — your tents are far.
— — My hope is but in song to show
— — — How honored and how dear you are.