A man said unto his Angel:
" My spirits are fallen low,
And I cannot carry this battle:
O brother! Where might I go?

" The terrible Kings are on me
With spears that are deadly bright;
Against me so from the cradle
Do fate and my fathers fight."

Then said to the man his Angel:
" Thou wavering witless soul
Back to the ranks! What matter
To win or to lose the whole,

" As judged by the little judges
Who hearken not well, nor see?
Not thus, by the outer issue,
The Wise shall interpret thee.

" Thy will is the sovereign measure
And only event of things:
The puniest heart defying,
Were stronger than all these Kings.

" Though out of the past they gather,
Mind's Doubt, and Bodily Pain,
And pallid Thirst of the Spirit
That is kin to the other twain,

" And Grief, in a cloud of banners,
And ringletted Vain Desires,
And Vice, with spoils upon him
Of thee and thy beaten sires, —

" While Kings of Eternal evil
Yet darken the hills about,
Thy part is with broken sabre
To rise on the last redoubt;

" To fear not sensible failure,
Nor covet the game at all,
But fighting, fighting, fighting,
Die, driven against the wall."