Among a race high-handed, strong of heart, <br />Sea-rovers, conquerors, builders in the waste, <br />He had his birth; a nature too complete, <br />Eager and doubtful, no man's soldier sworn <br />And no man's chosen captain; born to fail, <br />A name without an echo: yet he too <br />Within the cloister of his narrow days <br />Fulfilled the ancestral rites, and kept alive <br />The eternal fire; it may be, not in vain; <br />For out of those who dropped a downward glance <br />Upon the weakling huddled at his prayers, <br />Perchance some looked beyond him, and then first <br />Beheld the glory, and what shrine it filled, <br />And to what Spirit sacred: or perchance <br />Some heard him chanting, though but to himself, <br />The old heroic names: and went their way: <br />And hummed his music on the march to death.<br /><br />Sir Henry Newbolt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-non-combatant/
