Down through our crowded walks and closer air,
O friend, how beautiful thy footstep were!
When through the fever’s heat at last they trod,
A form was with them like the Son of God.
‘Twas but one step for those victorious feet
From their day’s path unto the golden street:
And we who watched their walk, so bright, so brief,
Have marked this marble with our hope and grief.
After all, the old fashioned virtues mean the most in life and are of greatest value. Brilliance is well enough, if there be something solid and sure beneath it. It is interesting to listen to a fascinating talker, but what is it that he is saying? And who is he that is speaking so charmingly? “If I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am become sounding brass, or a clanging cymbal.” It is not what a man says, nor what he does that measures the man – it is what he is. Achievements may be very fine, but what of the man who made the achievements? A splendid career dazzles people’s eyes. When a man climbs up before a neighbour’s sight until he stands on giddy heights, people are amazed. But thoughtful men, before they decide upon the real splendour of his ascent, wish to know how he got up, whether by honest climbing or in some other way. All that the world praises as success must be tested by the question, “What of the man at the centre of it all?”
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