Men Of Genius
By Matthew Arnold
Silent, the Lord of the world
Eyes from the heavenly height,
Girt by his far-shining train,
Us, who with banners unfurld
Fight lifes many-chancd fight
Madly below, in the plain.
Then saith the Lord to his own:
See ye the battle below?
Turmoil of death and of birth!
Too long let we them groan.
Haste, arise ye, and go;
Carry my peace upon earth.
Gladly they rise at his call;
Gladly they take his command;
Gladly descend to the plain.
Alas! How few of them all,
Those willing servants, shall stand
In their Masters presence again!
Some in the tumult are lost
Baffled, bewilderd, they stray.
Some as prisoners draw breath.
Others, the bravest, are crossd,
On the height of their bold-followd way,
By the swift-rushing missile of Death.
Hardly, hardly shall one
Come, with countenance bright,
Oer the cloud-wrapt, perilous plain:
His Masters errand well done,
Safe through the smoke of the fight,
Back to his Master again.