That all men may attain the crown of a Godlike character is the lesson
of this poem by Edwin Markham:
When punctual death comes knocking at the door,
To lead the soul upon the unknown road,
There is one crown, one only, never flung
Back to the dust by his fastidious hand.
Touched by this crown, a man is king indeed,
And carries fate and freedom in his breast;
And when his house of clay falls ruining,
His soul is out upon the path of stars!
This is the one thing stronger than the years
That tear the kingdoms down. Imperious time,
Pressing a wasteful hand on mortal things,
Reveals this young eternity in man.
The peasant, he may earn it with the king,
And tread an equal palace full of light.
Fleet youth may seize this crown: slow-footed age
May wear its immortality. Behold!
Its power can turn bare rafters to a home
Hallowed with hopes and hushed with memories;
Can turn a field of ruin to a place
Where pilgrims keep the watches of the night.
(340)