Oh, not for the great departed,
Who formed our country's laws,
And not for the
Who died in freedom's cause,
And not for some living
To whom all bend the knee,
My muse would raise her song of praise—But for the man to be.
For out of the strife which
Is passing through to-day,
A man that is more than
Shall yet be born,
I say.
A man in whose pure
No dross of self will lurk;
A man who is strong to cope with wrong,
A man who is proud to work.
A man with hope undaunted,
A man with godlike power,
Shall come when he most is wanted,
Shall come at the needed hour.
He shall silence the din and
Of clan disputing with clan,
And toil's long fight with purse-proud
Shall triumph through this man.
I know he is coming, coming,
To help, to guide, to save.
Though I hear no martial drumming,
And see no flags that wave.
But the great soul travail of woman,
And the bold free thought unfurled,
Are heralds that say he is on the way—The coming man of the world.
Mourn not for vanished
With their great heroic men,
Who dwell in history's
And live in the poet's pen.
For the grandest times are before us,
And the world is yet to
The noblest worth of this old
In the men that are to be.
