Tis sweet to stand on the firm shore and see
A swimmer striving with the billows' breath;
'Tis sweet afar to sit when battles be,
And see men threading the grim dance of death.
Not that to gaze on others' toil and pain
Gives any peace or pleasure to the breast,
But that the thunders of the foe and main
Wake up new beauties on the face of rest.
Sweeter to stand on Wisdom's height serene,
And through the mists that hold the nether air
To see the path to Life untried and green,
All else with Error's myriad footsteps bare ;
Not scorning the poor victims of the night,
But knowing more the difference of light.