Classic Poem

Whence do they come, they of the lofty bearing,
Whose manners voice an elevated life,
Whose faces smiles of triumph wearing,
Tell us of strife,
And victory won o'er weaknesses of nature,
And petty sinfulness? In what grave tone—
In what phraseology and nomenclature
To us unknown—
Do they commune together o'er the tale
Of how we strive to reach them but to fail?

We may not say! Perchance they are descended
In line unbroken from the Pharisee
Who once within the gates, his knee unbended,
Thanked God that he
Was not as other men! We must not murmur,
Oh, mourning brother of the frail estate!
Our steps will aye be weak, theirs aye the firmer!
We may be late;
Yet, haply still, each much-repented fall
Shall aid us answer His last muster-call!