Classic Poem

When all the world was black
Your courage did not fail;
No laughter did you lack
Or fellowship or ale.

And you have made defeat
A nobler pageantry,
Your bitterness more sweet
Than is their victory.

For by your stricken lips
A gallant song is sung;
Joy suffers no eclipse,
Is lyrical and young,

Is rooted in the sod,
Is ambient in the air,
Since Hope lifts up to God
The escalade of prayer.

The tyrants and the kings
In purple splendour ride,
But all ironic things
Go marching at your side

To nerve your hands with power,
To salt your souls with scorn,
Till that awaited hour
When Freedom shall be born.