Never say that good is waning,1
Virtue falling from the van ;2
Nor in saddened strains complaining,3
Preach the thanklessness of man.4
If some profitless self-seeker5
Win much praise and public gold,6
Not for this thy work be weaker,7
Not for this thy courage cold.8
Whoso in life’s task hath taken9
Glory for a worthy goal,10
Hath for a light dream forsaken11
True magnificence of soul.12
Think it then nor shame nor pity13
That no crowds applaud thy name ;14
Strive on—save the leaguered city,15
Though another reap the fame.16
If thy prowess hath not found thee17
Meed of honour in the state,18
Think of many a martyr round thee19
Daily doing something great.20
So thy people reap the harvest,21
Little recks who cast the seed ;22
Guerdon, high as thou deservest,23
Dwells in thy own holy deed.24