Victory

I have fought; but what honor in fighting?-- There are many who win; The beasts do as much, even righting A wrong that has been. Yet I rise ’bove the warfare, and clinging To Love ’midst the fray, Bring out of it all a soul singing, A heart that can pray.

I have toiled; but why laud for my toiling?-- There are legions who slave, Hearts calloused, souls dulled by the moiling From cradle to grave. Yet while wearied with burdens, I’m faring Afar--soul awing, Till my freed spirit soars, and is wearing The freshness of Spring.

I have dwelt in the darkness of sorrow; Pity not,--neither praise Because I endured: recks the morrow Of dead yesterdays? Full many weep, seeing no glimmer Of Light to be born; But I smile through the tear-drops that shimmer With promise of morn.

So extol me not for my burden, My striving, nor pain; Remember not these,--but the guerdon I strove to attain; That I fought, when needs must,--yet believing In Love as man’s goal, And kept sweet ’neath the lash, that is leaving No scar on my soul.