Ii Failure

We are the wasters, who have no Hope in this world here, neither fame, Because we cannot collar low Nor write a strange dead tongue the same As strange dead men did long ago.

We are the weary, who begin The race with joy, but early fail, Because we do not care to win A race that goes not to the frail And humble: only the proud come in.

We are the shadow-forms, who pass Unheeded hence from work and play. We are to-day, but like the grass That to-day is, we pass away; And no one stops to say ‘Alas!’

Though we have little, all we have We give our School. And no return We can expect for what we gave; No joys; only a summons stern, “Depart, for others entrance crave!”

As soon as she can clearly prove That from us is no hope of gain, Because we only bring her love And cannot bring her strength or brain. She tells us, “Go: it is enough.”

She turns us out at seventeen, We may not know her any more, And all our life with her has been A life of seeing others score, While we sink lower and are mean.

We have seen others reap success Full-measure. None has come to us. Our life has been one failure. Yes, But does not God prefer it thus? God does not also praise success.

And for each failure that we meet, And for each place we drop behind, Each toil that holds our aching feet, Each star we seek and never find, God, knowing, gives us comfort meet.

The School we care for has not cared To cherish nor keep our names to be Memorials. God hath prepared Some better thing for us, for we His hopes have known, His failures shared.

November 1912