THE MAN by T. Shelley Sutton

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Mountain View, California · Mar 22, 1905

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 31, No. 12.

THE MAN

By T. Shelley Sutton

I honor him who, with a crust of bread, Surveys the highest firmament of hope, Who yet can lift his wo-benighted head And scorn the depths where kings in folly grope; Who, in his rags, aspires to honor's shrine And worships there, in silence, with his soul, Who still can say, "The fruits of life are mine." Tho Time and Tide efface his every goal; I honor him.

I honor him, who, in the field of strife, Attains the halo of a sinless brow, Whose thoughts go Godward from the moil of life, The while his hand is fettered to the plow— Who, from the furrow of the common herd, Hath fixed his eye upon the astral plain— Whose soul is like the spirit of the bird, Whose heart is void of bitterness and pain; I honor him.

I honor him, who, with no gift of gold Can bribe the favor of untoward Fate, Whose honor, truth, and manhood are not sold To gain the key of Fortune's magic gate— Who stands alone, above, apart, away From all the masses that would mock his aim; Who only fears his Maker, and the Day When God shall view the glory and the shame; I honor him.

I honor him, whate'er his lot may be,— Who lives the part by destiny assigned, Who does his given duty, spirit free, With callous hand, brave soul, and stainless mind; Who still can sing when all around him weep, Who still can love when all but God betray, And who, in death, goes smiling to his sleep With sweet conviction of the Coming Day; I honor him. —T. Shelley Sutton.