21 January 2016
With thanks to the American Catholic site, a poem for those who train and teach, walk and weed, during these trying times*:
Say not the Struggle nought Availeth
By Arthur Hugh Clough
Say not the struggle nought availeth,
The labour and the wounds are vain,
The enemy faints not, nor faileth,
And as things have been they remain.
If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;
It may be, in yon smoke concealed,
Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers,
And, but for you, possess the field.
For while the tired waves, vainly breaking
Seem here no painful inch to gain,
Far back through creeks and inlets making,
Comes silent, flooding in, the main.
And not by eastern windows only,
When daylight comes, comes in the light,
In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly,
But westward, look, the land is bright.
* The Psalm numbering in the title of the post is the Catholic (i.e., correct) numbering. Use your Vulgate or Douay-Rheims version.