Classic Poem

In all the challenges which life
Holds out to us, I count it grand,
Yet half pathetic, that we stand
Or fall, unaided in the strife:

That still, unheeded and alone,
Each soul must meet its mortal foes —
With none to help or to oppose,
To mark its paean or its moan.

What cares the world that you have met
A fierce temptation on your way,
Have fought it through the livelong day —
The issue hanging doubtful yet?

But this remains to cure the smart,
To medicine the loneliest wound —
He stands on consecrated ground
Who battles bravely, though apart:

Ground that the saints and martyrs trod,
And once — with reverence be it said —
Made sacred by the sinless tread
Of Him who was the Son of God.