Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). A Victorian Anthology, 1837–1895. 1895.
Robert Nicoll 181437The Hero
M
He has nae glittering state;
Renown upon a field o’ blood
In war he hasna met.
He has nae siller in his pouch,
Nae menials at his ca’;
The proud o’ earth frae him would turn,
And bid him stand awa’.
His shoon are clouted sair,
His garments, maist unhero-like,
Are a’ the waur o’ wear:
His limbs are strong—his shoulders broad,
His hands were made to plough;
He ’s rough without, but sound within;
His heart is bauldly true.
His wark is never through;
A coming life o’ weary toil
Is ever in his view.
But on he trudges, keeping aye
A stout heart to the brae,
And proud to be an honest man
Until his dying day.
And kindly love may be;
And monie a nameless dwelling-place
Like his we still may see.
His happy altar-hearth so bright
Is ever bleezing there;
And cheerfu’ faces round it set
Are an unending prayer.
Like God, who dwells aboon,
Makes happy hearts around him there,
Sae joyfu’ late and soon.
His toil is sair, his toil is lang;
But weary nights and days,
Hame—happiness akin to his—
A hunder-fauld repays.
What happiness give they?
Go, tell the painted butterflies
To kneel them down and pray!
Go, stand erect in manhood’s pride,
Be what a man should be,
Then come, and to my hero bend
Upon the grass your knee!