_The Father answers._
Wrong to wish to be great?
No, Willie; it is not wrong:
The child who stands at the high closed gate
Must wish to be tall and strong!
If you did not wish to grow
I should be a sorry man;
I should think my boy was dull and slow,
Nor worthy of his clan.
You are bound to be great, my boy:
Wish, and get up, and do.
Were you content to be little, my joy
Would be little enough in you.
_Willie speaks._
Papa, papa! I'm so glad
That what I wish is right!
I will not lose a chance to be had;
I'll begin this very night.
I will work so hard at school!
I will waste no time in play;
At my fingers' ends I'll have every rule,
For knowledge is power, they say.
I _would_ be a king and reign,
But I can't be that, and so
Field-marshal I'll be, I think, and gain
Sharp battles and sieges slow.
I shall gallop and shout and call,
Waving my shining sword:
Artillery, cavalry, infantry, all
Hear and obey my word.
Or admiral I will be,
Wherever the salt wave runs,
Sailing, fighting over the sea,
With flashing and roaring guns.
I will make myself hardy and strong;
I will never, never give in.
I _am_ so glad it is not wrong!
At once I will begin.
_The Father speaks._
Fighting and shining along,
All for the show of the thing!
Any puppet will mimic the grand and strong
If you pull the proper string!
_Willie speaks._
But indeed I want to _be_ great,
I should despise mere show;
The thing I want is the glory-state--
Above the rest, you know!
_The Father answers._
The harder you run that race,
The farther you tread that track,
The greatness you fancy before your face
Is the farther behind your back.
To be up in the heavens afar,
Miles above all the rest,
Would make a star not the greatest star,
Only the dreariest.
That book on the highest shelf
Is not the greatest book;
If you would be great, it must be in yourself,
Neither by place nor look.
The Highest is not high
By being higher than others;
To greatness you come not a step more nigh
By getting above your brothers.