SUGGESTED BY A BAS-RELIEF
OF VICTORY
Straight as an arrow flies, so ran the maid,
Nor backward glanced; but brave and swift and strong
Bounded to her far mark. Once there, the thong
That held her sandals loosed she, and delayed,
To rest, victorious, for her haste repaid.
So must we speed our courses, short or long;
Hard pushed we run, and if some angel song
Be in the air, or sounds that make afraid
Our very souls, still onward are we prest.
Mayhap she chose her race; but ours is run
However weak the flesh and faint the heart;
No choice have we and cannot shirk our part,
Nor yet until our life-long race be done
Cry 'Victory!' loose the sandal thong, and rest.
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