POETRY
CONTENT. Happy the man that, when his day is done, Lies down to sleep with nothing of regret; The battle he has fought may not be won, The fame he sought be just as fleeting yet. Folding at list his hands upon his breast, Happy is he, if, hoary and forspent, He sinks into the last, eternal rest, Breathing these only words, ' I am content.'
But happier he that, while his blood is warm. Sees hopes and friendships dead about him lie, , Bares his brave breast to envy's bitter storm, Nor shuns the poison barbs of calumny ; And, 'mid it all, stands sturdy and elate, Girt only in the armor God hath meant i For him who, 'neath the buffetings of fate, Can say to God and man, • I am content.'
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/AHCOG19041020.2.6
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Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 444, 20 October 1904, Page 2
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136POETRY Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 444, 20 October 1904, Page 2
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