Men who dare mighty deeds with dauntless will,
Oft meet defeat,--not glorious victory;
But the uplifting souls to undreamed heights,
May not of poorest laurels worthy be.
There is a heroism born of pain,
Whose recompense in noble impulse lies;
And sometimes tears that e’en from grief did flow
Are changed to joy-drops in pathetic eyes.
From out the din of mighty orchestras,
The sweetest, purest tones are oft evolved;
So, from the discord of our restless lives,
May come sweet harmony when all is solved.