Methinks the measure of a man is not To save a state in midst of fierce alarms, Do noble deeds and mighty feats of arms, And feel the breath of battle waxing hot. There have been Cæsars whose more humble lot Forbade that they should bear the victor’s palms; Cromwells who never left their peaceful farms; Napoleons without ambition’s blot. Not in the deed that ’s done before the eyes Of wonder-stricken lands upturned to view, But in the will, though no occasion rise, And sleeping still, that dares such deeds to do, Is drawn the line which parts him from the clods And gives a man a kinship with the gods.
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