Classic Poem

Others there have been of the great Ones dead
Who still met Fortune with uplifted head,
Still to the blackest morn,
Returning scorn for scorn;

Others there were from whom no sorest fate
Could wring one cry of misery or hate,
Faring, with set lips prest,
Silent, towards their rest;

But thou, as dauntless, as unvanquished, thou,
With equal mind, and with unclouded brow,
Spared'st not to welcome still
The morrow, good or ill;

And hastening forward with unslackened pace
Still to the Unknown turned a cheery face,
Then, at the end of strife,
Thanked Life for life.