Classic Poem

For my poor self to raise one soothing song,
I pray not, knowing 'tis a prayer unfit.
But for these others. Can I passive sit,
And watch this straining, struggling, hurtling throng?
O God in Heaven, to make their way less long,
Their load less heavy, give me strength and wit
To sing, to leave some heart with truth peace-lit,
To strike some blow at foul deceit and wrong!
Sure the petition worth the granting is:
I ask to hurl strong darts, wrong to subdue;
And must the cast still fail? still be amiss?
Back comes the answer, stern, relentless, true:
" When thou thyself hast learned Truth's lips to kiss,
Without one swerve, then hope Truth's work to do. "