Dreams and Days

We know not when Death or disaster comes, Mightier than battle-drums To summon us away. Death bids us say farewell To all we love, nor stay For tears;-and who can tell How soon misfortune's hand May smite us where we stand, Dragging us down, aloof, Under the swift world's hoof? Strike hands for faith, and power To gladden the passing hour; To wield the sword, or raise a song;- To press the grape; or crush out wrong. And strengthen right. Give me the man of sturdy palm And vigorous brain; Hearty, companionable, sane, 'Mid all commotions calm, Yet filled with quick, enthusiastic fire;- Give me the man Whose impulses aspire, And all his features seem to say, "I can!"