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Spirit, that lookest from the starry fold
Of truth’s white flock, next to thy Milton there
Accept my reverence though but feebly told.
And oh! My heart from thy example rare
Henceforth its being for worthiest ends would bear.
Thy deeds, though plain, were towering all and bold,
And like the stedfast columns that uphold
Some awful temple, to thy duty were.
How much thy story has enlarged my ken
Of real greatness! Of mere conquerors I
Read but with anger, or with shame; but when
Of thee, uplifted into virtue’s sky,
I glory in my brotherhood with men,
And feel how nobly all may live and die.
Charles Harpur
Read poems about / on: anger, truth, sky, heart
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Charles Harpur
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