Lord Macaulay.
TRENCH
LVII
THE TASK
Yes, let us own it in confession free,
That when we girt ourselves to quell the wrong,
We deemed it not so giant-like and strong,
But it with our slight effort thought to see
Pushed from its base; yea, almost deemed that we,
Champions of right, might be excused the price
Of pain, and loss, and large self-sacrifice,
Set ever on high things by Heav’n’s decree.
What if this work’s great hardness was concealed
From us, until so far upon our way
That no escape remained us, no retreat,—
Lest, being at an earlier hour revealed,
We might have shrunk too weakly from the heat,
And shunned the burden of this fiery day?
Richard Chenevix Trench.
LVIII
THE UNFORGOTTEN
Whom for thy race of heroes wilt thou own,
And, England, who shall be thy joy, thy pride?
As thou art just, oh then not those alone
Who nobly conquering lived, or conquering died.
Then also in thy roll of heroes write,
For well they earned what best thou canst bestow,
Who being girt and armèd for the fight,
Yielded their arms, but to no mortal foe.