Who art thou so wondrous fair,
All in glory shining?
Men adore thee ev'rywhere—
Answer my divining.

I am that which heroes claim;
For their deeds of daring;
I can raise a humble name—
Why art thou despairing?

Dost then yonder warrior see,
Weary with destroying?
Shall he hope to climb to thee,
O'er the dead and dying?

Waste of life and woe of fight,
Nothing do concern me;
If the soldier comes in right,
Surely he shall earn me.

One doth heaps of gold amass;—
If his breath should fail him,
Whither would his mem'ry pass?
Bright one, wouldst thou hail him?

If for good he had employ'd
That he lays beside him,
In his life and when he died,
I had not denied him.

One in pulpit prayeth loud,
God with things acquainting:
How shall he become endow'd,
For his noisy sainting?

If his life be meek and pure,
Moral as his preaching,
Even him I can endure,
When he hath done his teaching.

One is mounted on a throne,
Myriads are admiring;
Canst thou such a king disown,
Splendid and aspiring?

Is he wise, he merits fame,
And he too shall share it;
If a fool, the greater shame,
His actions will declare it.

Thou canst raise a humble name,
Mine indeed is humble;
Should I win a meed of fame,
Friends of mine would grumble.

Strive to climb yon envied path—
Glory beams above it;
Though the world should howl in wrath,
Turn and look, and love it.