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Poetry.

THE COMMON MAN. His not to hear the wilh hurrah Loud hail his honoured name ; His head was never reared to wear The laurel wreath of fame. Not in the records of great deeds His mention shall appear ; He simply lived and simply died, A leaf that lasts a year. He rode not on the topmost wave Lapped in a diamond cup ; He was an atom of the sea That holds the bubble up. The froth upon the surface rides Serenely light a nd fair ; But ah ! the strong tides lie below That patient keep it there. What of the world if this deep tide Should sudden pass away ? The best of earth would helpless lie Low in the ooze and clay. The man within the humble cot. Of whom no poet sings— His hand, obscure, unseen, unknown, Upholds the thrones of kings. For good or bad, his silent will Works on while years go by ; Fate speaks, from out the lowly home And nations rise or die. It is the soul that makes men great. And not the empty name ; Earth's greatest heroes lived not in The chronicles of fame. Mankind witholds its grudging meed. And lias since time began ; Yet Truth must crown with laurel wreath The obscire Common Man. —Lowell O. Reece, (In San Francisco Bulletin).

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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/SOCR19071102.2.6

Bibliographic details

Poetry., Southern Cross, Volume 15, Issue 28, 2 November 1907

Word Count
220

Poetry. Southern Cross, Volume 15, Issue 28, 2 November 1907

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