Many, if God should make them kings,
Might not disgrace the throne He gave;
How few who could as well fulfil
The holier office of a slave.
I hold him great who, for Love's sake
Can give, with generous, earnest will,—
Yet he who takes for Love's sweet sake,
I think I hold more generous still.
I prize the instinct that can turn
From vain pretence with proud disdain;
Yet more I prize a simple heart;
Paying credulity with pain.
I bow before the noble mind
That freely some great wrong forgives;
Yet nobler is the one forgiven,
Who bears that burden well, and lives.
It may be hard to gain, and still
To keep a lowly steadfast heart
Yet he who loses has to fill
A harder and a truer part.
Glorious it is to wear the crown
Of a deserved and pure success;—
He who knows how to fail has won
A Crown whose lustre is not less.
Great may he be who can command
And rule with just and tender sway;
Yet is diviner wisdom taught
Better by him who can obey.
Blessed are those who die for God,
And earn the Martyr's crown of light —
Yet he who lives for God may be
A greater Conqueror in His sight.