Alfred J. Waterhouse

Let others sing to the hero who wins in the ceaseless fray,
Who, over the crushed and the fallen, pursueth his upward way.
For him let them weave the laurel, to him be their paeans sung,
Whom the kindly fates have chosen, who are happy their loved among.
But mine be a different message, some soul in its stress to reach;
To bind o'er the wound of failure the balm of pitying speech;
To whisper, "Be up and doing, for courage at last prevails.
" I sing — who have supped with Failure — I sing to the man who fails.
I know how the gray cloud darkens, and mantles the soul in gloom;
I know how the spirit hearkens to voices of doubt or of doom;
I know how the tempter mutters his terrible word, "Despair!"
But the heart has its secret chamber, and I know that our God is there.
Our years are as moments only; our failures he counts as naught;
The stone that the builders rejected perchance is the one that he sought