Classic Poem

Poor son of strife—
Child of inequality and growth—
You will never learn; you have only to live.
You will never know the peace of order,
Routine will crush you.
Safe toil has always thought of time,
But you will work in utter concentration,
Fierce as fire.

You will find no steady excellence:
You will spend your life in a ditch, grubbing for grains of gold.
Remember, my dear son,
That gold is gold.

You will find no steady virtue:
You will live sometimes with holy ecstasy, sometimes with shoddy sin.
You will keep no constant faith,
But with an agony of faithful longing you will hate a lie.

Life will give you no annuity,
You will always be at risk.
There is one technique, one hope and one excuse for such as you,
And that is courage.