Page:Poems, Household Edition, Emerson, 1904.djvu/300

264 With angel patience labor on,

With the high port he wore erewhile,

When, foremost of the youthful band,

The prizes in all lists he won;

Nor bate one jot of heart or hope,

And, least of all, the loyal tie

Which holds to home 'neath every sky,

The joy and pride the pilgrim feels

In hearts which round the hearth at home

Keep pulse for pulse with those who roam.

What generous beliefs console

The brave whom Fate denies the goal!

If others reach it, is content;

To Heaven's high will his will is bent.

Firm on his heart relied,

What lot soe'er betide,

Work of his hand

He nor repents nor grieves,

Pleads for itself the fact,

As unrepenting Nature leaves

Her every act.

Fell the bolt on the branching oak;

The rainbow of his hope was broke;

No craven cry, no secret tear,—

He told no pang, he knew no fear;