 | The Collected Poems of T. W. H. Crosland |  |
100
For Righteousness' Sake
Man that is born of a woman—
The creature of doom,
Who lives that the Shadow may summon
Men forth to the tomb;
The creature of doom,
Who lives that the Shadow may summon
Men forth to the tomb;
Who knoweth not wages or earning,
Who sows not to reap,
Whose labour and passion and yearning
Must finish with sleep;
Who sows not to reap,
Whose labour and passion and yearning
Must finish with sleep;
Who catches in vain at the glory;
Whose brightness is rust;
Whose days are a breath and a story;
Whose house is the dust;
Whose brightness is rust;
Whose days are a breath and a story;
Whose house is the dust;
Who lies, if he vaunt him of merit,
Whose tree bears no fruit,
Who quenches the spark of the spirit
With lusts of the brute;
Whose tree bears no fruit,
Who quenches the spark of the spirit
With lusts of the brute;
101
Yet—standeth erect to the fighting
And whirlwind and flame,
And squanders himself for the smiting
Of Terror and Shame;
And whirlwind and flame,
And squanders himself for the smiting
Of Terror and Shame;
Who gathereth his weakness and brings it
Where furies move;
And loves the world so that he flings it
Away out of love;
Where furies move;
And loves the world so that he flings it
Away out of love;
Even though he were fashioned to perish
By ordinance grim,
The Sons of the Morning would cherish
Memories of him:
By ordinance grim,
The Sons of the Morning would cherish
Memories of him:
Who owing a debt went and paid it,
And kept with his blood
The Earth for the Wisdom who made it
And saw it was good.
And kept with his blood
The Earth for the Wisdom who made it
And saw it was good.
| The Collected Poems of T. W. H. Crosland | |