I do not pray for peace nor ease,
  Nor truce from sorrow: 
  No suppliant on servile knees
  Begs here against to-morrow!

  Lean flame against lean flame we flash,
  O, Fates that meet me fair;
  Blue steel against blue steel we clash—­
  Lay on, and I shall dare!

  But Thou of deeps the awful Deep,
  Thou Breather in the clay,
  Grant this my only prayer—­Oh keep
  My soul from turning gray!

  For until now, whatever wrought
  Against my sweet desires,
  My days were smitten harps strung taut,
  My nights were slumbrous lyres.

  And howsoe’er the hard blow rang
  Upon my battered shield,
  Some lark-like, soaring spirit sang
  Above my battlefield.

  And through my soul of stormy night
  The zigzag blue flame ran. 
  I asked no odds—­I fought my fight—­
  Events against a man.

  But now—­at last—­the gray mist chokes
  And numbs me. Leave me pain! 
  Oh let me feel the biting strokes
  That I may fight again!

John G. Neihardt.

From “The Quest” (collected lyrics).

STEADFAST

No one ever has a trouble so great that some other person has not a greater.  The thought of the heroism shown by those more grievously afflicted than we, helps us to bear our own ills patiently.

  If I can help another bear an ill
    By bearing mine with somewhat of good grace—­
    Can take Fate’s thrusts with not too long a face
  And help him through his trials, then I WILL! 
    For do not braver men than I decline
    To bow to troubles graver, far, than mine?

  Pain twists this body?  Yes, but it shall not
    Distort my soul, by all the gods that be! 
    And when it’s done its worst, Pain’s victory
  Shall be an empty one!  Whate’er my lot,
    My banner, ragged, but nailed to the mast,
    Shall fly triumphant to the very last!

  Others so much worse off than I have fought;
    Have smiled—­have met defeat with unbent head
    They shame me into following where they led. 
  Can I ignore the lesson they have taught? 
    Strike hands with me!  Dark is the way we go,
    But souls-courageous line it—­that I know!

Everard Jack Appleton.

From “The Quiet Courage.”

IF

  If I were fire I’d burn the world away. 
  If I were wind I’d turn my storms thereon,
  If I were water I’d soon let it drown.

Cecco Angolieri.

  If I were fire I’d seek the frozen North
  And warm it till it blossomed fairly forth
  And in the sweetness of its smiling mien
  Resembled some soft southern garden scene. 
  And when the winter came again I’d seek
  The chilling homes of lowly ones and meek
  And do my small but most efficient part
  To bring a wealth of comfort to the heart.