Classic Poem

O soul, with consecrated vow,
Who minglest in the arduous strife
For truths that men receive not now,
Thy warfare only ends with life.

Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof,
And blench not at thy chosen lot;
The timid good may stand aloof,
The sage may frown, yet faint thou not:

Nor heed the shaft too surely cast,
The foul and hissing bolt of scorn;
For with thy side shall dwell at last
The victory of endurance born.

Lo, Error, wounded, writhes in pain
And dies among his worshippers;
Truth crushed to earth shall rise again,
The eternal years of God are hers!