HUMBLER HEROES.

It might not be so difficult to lead the light brigade,

While the army cheered behind you, and the fifes and bugles played;

It might be rather easy, with the war-shriek in your ears,

To forget the bite of bullets and the taste of blood and tears.

But to be a scrubwoman, with four

Babies, or more,

Every day, every day setting your back

On the rack,

And all your reward forever not quite

A full bite

Of bread for your babies. Say!

In the heat of the day

You might be a hero to head a brigade,

But a hero like her? I'm afraid! I'm afraid!

It might be very feasible to force a great reform,

To saddle public passion and to ride upon the storm;

It might be somewhat simple to ignore the roar of wrath,

Because a second shout broke out to cheer you on your path.

But he who, alone and unknown, is true

To his view,

Unswerved by the crush of the mutton-browed,

Blatting crowd,

Unwon by the flabby-brained, blinking ease

Which he sees

Throned and anointed. Say!

At the height of the fray,

You might be the chosen to captain the throng:

But to stand all alone? How long? How long?