A Creed by John Masefield<br />Read by Liam Neely.<br /><br />I HOLD that when a person dies <br />His soul returns again to earth; <br />Arrayed in some new flesh-disguise <br />Another mother gives him birth. <br />With sturdier limbs and brighter brain <br />The old soul takes the road again. <br /><br />Such is my own belief and trust; <br />This hand, this hand that holds the pen, <br />Has many a hundred times been dust <br />And turned, as dust, to dust again; <br />These eyes of mine have blinked and shown <br />In Thebes, in Troy, in Babylon. <br /><br />All that I rightly think or do, <br />Or make, or spoil, or bless, or blast, <br />Is curse or blessing justly due <br />For sloth or effort in the past. <br />My life's a statement of the sum <br />Of vice indulged, or overcome. <br /><br />I know that in my lives to be <br />My sorry heart will ache and burn, <br />And worship, unavailingly, <br />The woman whom I used to spurn, <br />And shake to see another have <br />The love I spurned, the love she gave. <br /><br />And I shall know, in angry words, <br />In gibes, and mocks, and many a tear, <br />A carrion flock of homing-birds, <br />The gibes and scorns I uttered here. <br />The brave word that I failed to speak <br />Will brand me dastard on the cheek. <br /><br />And as I wander on the roads <br />I shall be helped and healed and blessed; <br />Dear words shall cheer and be as goads <br />To urge to heights before unguessed. <br />My road shall be the road I made; <br />All that I gave shall be repaid. <br /><br />So shall I fight, so shall I tread, <br />In this long war beneath the stars; <br />So shall a glory wreathe my head, <br />So shall I faint and show the scars, <br />Until this case, this clogging mould, <br />Be smithied all to kingly gold.
