No Enemies

No Enemies

"He has no enemies," you say,

I pity his condition;

His candor he has thrown away,

His manhood and position.

"He has no enemies!" well, then,

The reason is he never

Has heart to act, but only when

He sees which way the weather.

"He has no enemies." Indeed,

Then what has he been doing?

Or, what on earth can be his creed,

What has he been pursuing?

A truckling, vascilating course,

Unmanly, undecided—

His little, puny soul is worse

Than sixpence twice divided.

His principles are very light,

If he is not contented

To be traduced for doing right,

When once he has assented.

Then give me one of upright heart.

Who dares the truth to utter,

And act a noble, manly part,

Though enemies do mutter.

A man of earnest, iron will,

Whose enemies are many,

And yet whose virtue, strength, and skill,

Is undeterred by any;

Whose peerless love for truth and right,

Keeps falsehood at its distance;

And though he may be crushed by might,

Yet always acts consistent.

Ah! like the sturdy forest oak,

Through which the winds do rattle,

Stands firmer from the heavy stroke,

Prepared for truth to battle.

Such is the man whose noble soul,

When roused to proper action,

Disdains a sordid, base control,

Or enemies detraction.

Who knows, when virtue's lost and fled,

That time is really trying,

For if the man is not then dead,

He surely must be dying.

B. Clark, Sen.

1:13, p. 4

10.15.1859