Poems (Ford)/Heroism
HEROISM.
The age of heroes is not dead, Nor numbered with the past;Each day calls forth some daring deed More brilliant than the last;Each day some noble sacrifice Made in a glorious causeBids earth to her foundations shake With thunders of applause.
The hero stands, a demi-god, 'Mid the admiring crowdThat sounds the trumpet of his fame In plaudits long and loud; .Their praise is music to his ears— Yet had he toiled the same,And failure, not success, been his, How would he bear their blame?
And though unmoved where passion rolls A fiercely flaming floodOf strife across a nation's breast That must be quenched in blood, Though fearless mid the tempest's rage And foremost in the strife,The hero of an hour may be The coward of a life.
But more heroic is the soul That acts its humble part,And makes its quiet dwelling-place In woman's faithful heart;That praise or blame, or coward fear Of what the world will say,Can never for a moment lure From its appointed way.
For whether by the household hearth Or in the convent cell,Or 'mid the haunts where pale disease And sad-browed sorrow dwell,Her trials, struggles, cares and woes She bravely bears alone;Her life is full of hero-deeds To the great world unknown.
Though many a dreary path she strews With flowers of mercy sweet,Oft in her own sharp thorns are thrown That pierce her weary feet;Yet patient, uncomplaining still, She toils as seasons roll, Wearing perhaps a careless smile To hide a martyr-soul.
As sweetly in some quiet dell The violet, newly blown,Breathes fragrance on the passer-by, Itself unseen, unknown,Distilling balm for others' woes, She spends her quiet days,Content to see her noblest works Win blame instead of praise.
The world may have no meed of praise, No laurel-wreath to giveTo those who daily walk with death That others yet may live,Who stanch the blood that laureled brows Have caused in streams to flow,But angels twine unfading crowns For those uncrowned below.
The hero true, forgetting self, Will ready ever standTo live, to suffer, or to die For God or native land;But while you give him honor due, Pass not unheeding byHer whose brave soul endures and lives Where he could only die.