Who is the happy Warrior?
Who is he
That every man in arms should
wish to be?
—It is the generous Spirit,
who, when brought
Among the tasks of real life,
hath wrought
Upon the plan that pleased his
boyish thought:
Whose high endeavours are an
inward light
That makes the path before him
always bright;
Who, with a natural instinct
to discern
What knowledge can perform, is
diligent to learn;
Abides by this resolve, and
stops not there,
But makes his moral being his
prime care;
Who, doomed to go in company
with Pain,
And Fear, and Bloodshed,
miserable train!
Turns his necessity to
glorious gain;
In face of these doth exercise
a power
Which is our human nature's
highest dower:
Controls them and subdues,
transmutes, bereaves
Of their bad influence, and
their good receives:
By objects, which might force
the soul to abate
Her feeling, rendered more
compassionate;
Is placable—because occasions
rise
So often that demand such
sacrifice;
More skilful in
self-knowledge, even more pure,
As tempted more; more able to
endure,
As more exposed to suffering
and distress;
Thence, also, more alive to
tenderness.
—'Tis he whose law is reason;
who depends
Upon that law as on the best
of friends;
Whence, in a state where men
are tempted still
To evil for a guard against
worse ill,
And what in quality or act is
best
Doth seldom on a right
foundation rest,
He labours good on good to
fix, and owes
To virtue every triumph that
he knows:
—Who, if he rise to station of
command,
Rises by open means; and there
will stand
On honourable terms, or else
retire,
And in himself possess his own
desire;
Who comprehends his trust, and
to the same
Keeps faithful with a
singleness of aim;
And therefore does not stoop,
nor lie in wait
For wealth, or honours, or for
worldly state;
Whom they must follow; on
whose head must fall,
Like showers of manna, if they
come at all:
Whose powers shed round him in
the common strife,
Or mild concerns of ordinary
life,
A constant influence, a
peculiar grace;
But who, if he be called upon
to face
Some awful moment to which
Heaven has joined
Great issues, good or bad for
human kind,
Is happy as a Lover; and
attired
With sudden brightness, like a
Man inspired;
And, through the heat of
conflict, keeps the law
In calmness made, and sees
what he foresaw;
Or if an unexpected call
succeed,
Come when it will, is equal to
the need:
—He who, though thus endued as
with a sense
And faculty for storm and
turbulence,
Is yet a Soul whose
master-bias leans
To homefelt pleasures and to
gentle scenes;
Sweet images! which,
wheresoe'er he be,
Are at his heart; and such
fidelity
It is his darling passion to
approve;
More brave for this, that he
hath much to love:—
'Tis, finally, the Man, who,
lifted high,
Conspicuous object in a
Nation's eye,
Or left unthought-of in
obscurity,—
Who, with a toward or untoward
lot,
Prosperous or adverse, to his
wish or not—
Plays, in the many games of
life, that one
Where what he most doth value
must be won:
Whom neither shape or danger
can dismay,
Nor thought of tender
happiness betray;
Who, not content that former
worth stand fast,
Looks forward, persevering to
the last,
From well to better, daily
self-surpast:
Who, whether praise of him
must walk the earth
For ever, and to noble deeds
give birth,
Or he must fall, to sleep
without his fame,
And leave a dead unprofitable
name—
Finds comfort in himself and
in his cause;
And, while the mortal mist is
gathering, draws
His breath in confidence of
Heaven's applause:
This is the happy Warrior;
this is he
That every man in arms should
wish to be.
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