The Happy Warrior

  '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 of danger can dismay,
  Nor thought of tender happiness betray;
  Who, not content that former work stand fast,
  Looks forward, persevering to the last,
  From well to better, daily self-surpast;
  Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth
  Forever, 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.