Strip him of his splendours, of his conquests and dominions,
His secure boast to be earth’s lord enthroned,
Humble him: he stands forth greater in his nakedness
Than in the wealth and safety that he owned.
He that has so loved peril in all experience,
He that has gone with Sorrow all her way,
Will not now refuse or shrink; prove him to the innermost,
With worse than worst confront him: come what may,
Lo, you awake, O Trumpets of Calamity,
Some fragment of old Darkness in his breast;