Classic Poem

I have been tempered, Lord, in the fires of affliction.
I have been beaten, Lord, on the anvil of defeat.
I have been burnt and bent to Thy stern diction,
And made keen and sharp-edged and sweet,
And sheathed in silence, until unafraid
The Master Swordsman bare my gleaming blade.

I am eager, Lord, for the thunder and the fury,
The crash of conflict and the battle's sweep;
And whether tis mine to win a victor's glory,
Or with one blow a broken blade and sleep,
I will go forward, Lord, nor fear to reap:
That when the tumult stills I'll hear Thee say,
" He too fought well to bring about this Day! "