His hat looks worn, and his coat-sleeves shine, <br />As I see him step from his ’bus at nine; <br />His boots are pieced and his tie home-made, <br />And his trousers patched where the edge was frayed, <br />And his face is lined by the stress of life <br />Where a man must fight for his bairns an wife. <br />“Who’s that?” I ask, as his face I scan. <br />And the answer comes—“O, an average man.” <br />He has not got notes, he has not got gold, <br />But his homely lunch, in his handbag old; <br />And day by day, as the seasons go, <br />He follows his duty to and fro, <br />And shadows follow him everywhere— <br />Grim want, and worry, and dread are there, <br />For life is not on a gorgeous plan— <br />Far, far from it—to the average man. <br /> <br />The floods, the banks, and the curtailed screw, <br />The weekly bills, and the grasping Jew, <br />The servant’s wage and the doctor’s fee, <br />And the needful change by the breezy sea, <br />And the pent-up hours at the desk, which mean <br />A man’s brain changed to a mere machine, <br />And a wife’s tired eyes and the children wan, <br />All press like lead on the average man. <br /> <br />When the blood is up ’tis a simple thing <br />To charge where the bombs and the bullets sing. <br />But he is worthy a higher place <br />Who fronts his woes with a smiling face, <br />For the noblest strife in our life to-day <br />Is the humdrum fight in the humdrum way. <br />O, wealth and genius may lead the van, <br />But the hero is often an average man.<br /><br />George Essex Evans<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-average-man/
