Classic Poem

Not for wealth or for power, conquest or victory,
Not for shout and applause, honor and dignity,
Speeds my soul to the strife; higher and holier
Is the feeling that wakens me.

Duty calls me to yield life and its happiness,
Calls me to part from friend, part from a dearer one;
Duty calls, and I know honors immortal wait,
Even when earth has forgotten me.

So I rush to the strife,—rush where the bravest yield.
They only look to renown; mightier impulses
Bear me on, as with wings,—on, till, victorious,
Death I greet as the foe retires.