'Tis not wealth that makes a king,
Nor the purple coloring;
Nor the brow that's bound with gold,
Nor gate on mighty hinges rolled.
The king is he who, void of fear,
Looks abroad with bosom clear;
Who can tread ambition down,
Nor be swayed by smile or frown,
Nor for all the treasure cares,
That mine conceals or harvest wears,
Or that golden sands deliver
Bosomed in the glassy river.
What shall move his placid might?
Not the headlong thunder's light,
Nor all the shapes of slaughter's trade,
With onward lance or fiery blade.
Safe, with wisdom for his crown,
He looks on all things calmly down,
He welcomes Fate when Fate is near,
Nor taints his dying breath with fear.
No; to fear not earthly thing,
That it is that makes the king;
And all of us, whoe'er we be,
May carve us out that royalty.
--Seneca, tr. by Leigh Hunt.
With comrade Duty, in the dark or day,
To follow Truth--wherever it may lead;
To hate all meanness, cowardice or greed;
To look for Beauty under common clay;
Our brothers' burden sharing, when they weep,
But, if we fall, to bear defeat alone;
To live in hearts that loved us, when we're gone
Beyond the twilight (till the morning break!)--to sleep--
That is Success!
--Ernest Neal Lyon.
The common problem, yours, mine, every one's,
Is, not to fancy what were fair in life
Provided it could be, but, finding first
What may be, then find out how to make it fair
Up to our means; a very different thing.
--Robert Browning.