by John Vance Cheney
He shed no tears, he made no moan;
He bore his burden; mute, endured the years,
Eating his bread as it were not a stone:
He murmured not nor faltered, shed no tears.
He toiled with neither hope nor plan;
Ambition masked in tame humility
That yokes for equal draught the ox with man,
None heard him speak again of what might be.
Not once from him a craven cry;
Patient as are the cattle of the stall,
Dumb as the tumbled clods that on him lie,
So patient, dumb, he toiled, so did he fall.
Last updated January 14, 2019