Classic Poem

Give thanks, O heart, for the high souls
That point us to the deathless goals —
For all the courage of their cry
That echoes down from sky to sky;
Thanksgiving for the armed seers
And heroes called to mortal years —
Souls that have built our faith in man,
And lit the ages as they ran.

Lincoln, Mazzini, Lamennais,
Doing the deed that others pray;
Cromwell, St. Francis, and the rest,
Bearing the God-fire in the breast —
These are the sons of sacred flame,
Their brows marked with the sacred name —
The company of souls supreme,
The conscripts of the mighty Dream.

Made of unpurchasable stuff,
They went the way when ways were rough:
They, when the traitors had deceived,
Held the long purpose, and believed:
They, when the face of God grew dim,
Held through the dark and trusted Him —
Brave souls that took the perilous trail
And felt the vision could not fail.

Give thanks for heroes who have stirred
Earth with the wonder of a word.
But all thanksgiving for the breed
Who have bent destiny with deed —
Souls of the high, heroic birth,
Souls sent to poise the shaken Earth,
And then called back to God again
To make Heaven possible for men.