Obscure Victors

The roots of nobleness strike down
    To common earth’s unsunned abysm;
The lowliest life may wear a crown
    Of more than martial heroism.

The wisdom that could save a State
    Has sold its robe to sup with folly,
While noteless lives superbly great
    Stood proof against her rattling volley.

The conqueror of a hundred fields,
    To some low passion oft surrenders;
The boon ambition never yields,
The hand of humble duty tenders.

Not all who walk in hallowed aisles, 
    To lead the world, themselves are holy;
The pure madonna, Virtue, smiles, —
    Though fortune frown, — on graces lowly.

The seamstress, through yon garret door,
    Who keeps her soul white in the pallor
Of hungry want, has conquered more
    Than all the belted knights of valor!

A sin subdued, or baseness crushed,
    Speaks courage that could storm a fortress;
The daring that on bayonets rushed
    Has struck to Vice, — Dishonor’s portress.

The proudest trophy that survives
    When earth slips fading from our senses.
Is the pure gold of nobler lives,
    Crushed out from adverse influences.

The rich by labor, — not by alms, —
    Stand farthest from the plane of losses,
And souls who highest bear their palms
    Are they who lowliest bear their crosses!