Where they hid themselves in winter, Talked with them whene'er he met them, Called them "Hiawatha's Chickens." Of all beasts he learned the language, Learned their names and all their secrets, How the beavers built their lodges, Where the squirrels hid their acorns, How the reindeer ran so swiftly, Why the rabbit was so timid,
Talked with them whene'er he met them, Called them "Hiawatha's Brothers."
Who is the happy Warrior? Who is he That every man in arms should wish to be? -It is the generous Spirit, who, when brought Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought Upon the plan that pleased his boyish thought: Whose high endeavors are an inward light That makes the path before him always bright: Who, with a natural instinct to discern What knowledge can perform, is diligent to learn; Abides by this resolve, and stops not there, But makes his moral being his prime care; Who, doomed to go in company with Pain, And Fear, and Bloodshed, miserable train! Turns his necessity to glorious gain; In face of these doth exercise a power Which is our human nature's highest dower; Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves Of their bad influence, and their good receives: By objects, which might force the soul to abate Her feeling, rendered more compassionate; Is placable-because occasions rise
So often that demand such sacrifice;
More skillful in self-knowledge, even more puré, As tempted more; more able to endure, As more exposed to suffering and distress; Thence also, more alive to tenderness.
'Tis he whose law is reason; who depends Upon that law as on the best of friends;" Whence, in a state where men are tempted still To evil for a guard against worse ill, And what in quality or act is best Doth seldom on a right foundation rest, He labors good on good to fix, and owes To virtue every triumph that he knows;
-Who, if he rise to station of command, Rises by open means; and there will stand On honorable terms, or else retire, And in himself possess his own desire; Who comprehends his trust, and to the same Keeps faithful with a singleness of aim; And therefore does not stoop, nor lie in wait For wealth, or honors, or for worldly state; Whom they must follow; on whose head must fall, Like showers of manna, if they come at all:
Whose powers shed round him in the common strife, Or mild concerns of ordinary life,
A constant influence, a peculiar grace;
But who, if he be called upon to face
Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined Great issues, good or bad for human kind,
Is happy as a Lover; and attired
With sudden brightness, like a Man inspired; And, through the heat of conflict, keeps the law In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw; Or if an unexpected call succeed,
Come when it will, is equal to the need:
-He who, though thus endued as with a sense And faculty for storm and turbulence,
yet a Soul whose master-bias leans
To homefelt pleasures and to gentle scenes; Sweet images! which, wheresoe'er he be, Are at his heart; and such fidelity
It is his darling passion to approve;
More brave for this, that he hath much to love:- 'Tis, finally, the Man who lifted high, Conspicuous object in a Nation's eye, Or left unthought-of in obscurity,- Who, with a toward or untoward lot, Prosperous or adverse, to his wish or not- Plays, in the many games of life, that one Where what he most doth value must be won:
Whom neither shape of danger can dismay, Nor thought of tender happiness betray; Who, not content that former worth stand fast, Looks forward, persevering to the last, From well to better, daily self-surpast: Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth Forever, and to noble deeds give birth, Or he must fall, to sleep without his fame, And leave a dead unprofitable name- Finds comfort in himself and in his cause; And, while the mortal mist is gathering, draws His breath in confidence of Heaven's applause: This is the happy Warrior; this is He That every Man in arms should wish to be.
Your Mission
ELLEN H. GATES
If you cannot on the ocean Sail among the swiftest fleet, Rocking on the highest billows, Laughing at the storms you meet, You can stand among the sailors, Anchored yet within the bay, You can lend a hand to help them, As they launch their boats away.
If you are too weak to journey Up the mountain, steep and high, You can stand within the valley, While the multitudes go by. You can chant in happy measure, As they slowly pass along; Though they may forget the singer They will not forget the song.
If you have not gold and silver Ever ready to command, If you cannot toward the needy Reach an ever open hand, You can visit the afflicted, O'er the erring you can weep, You can be a true disciple, Sitting at the Saviour's feet.
If you cannot in the conflict Prove yourself a soldier true, If where the fire and smoke are thickest There's no work for you to do, When the battle-field is silent, You can go with careful tread, You can bear away the wounded, You can cover up the dead.
Up from the South at break of day, Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay, The affrighted air with a shudder bore, Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door, The terrible grumble, and rumble, and roar, Telling the battle was on once more, And Sheridan twenty miles away.
And wider still those billows of war Thundered along the horizon's bar; And louder yet into Winchester rolled The roar of that red sea uncontrolled, Making the blood of the listener cold, As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray, With Sheridan twenty miles away.
But there is a road from Winchester town, A good, broad highway leading down;
And there, through the flush of the morning light, A steed as black as the steeds of night,
Was seen to pass, as with eagle flight;
As if he knew the terrible need,
He stretched away with his utmost speed; Hills rose and fell; but his heart was gay, With Sheridan fifteen miles away.
Still sprung from those swift hoofs, thundering South, The dust, like smoke from the cannon's mouth; Or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and faster, Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster. The heart of the steed and the heart of the master Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls, Impatient to be where the battlefield calls;
Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play, With Sheridan only ten miles away.
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