Poetry.

Southern Cross, Volume 1, Issue 21, 19 August 1893, Page 10

Poetry.

THE AVERAGE MAN. His face had the grim look of granite. As wrinkled and browned with the sun As the coat on his narrow shoulders— And his hands showed the work he had done For his wife and the babe on her bosom ; Yet he smiled through his pallor and tan In patient, sad way, as if saying : “ I’m only the average man.” “ I can’t be a hero or poet, Hor a general, decKed with a crown ; I’m only a badly-paid servant For them set above me. I’m down, An’ it’s no use complaining, I’ll get along best way I can— But one o’ these days ’ll come mornin’ An’ hope f’r the average man.” As I looked on this wistful-eyed toiler A fire flashed into my brain, And I cried from my heart’s deepest centre Above the wild roar of the train: “ I have seen the hero of battles, I have looked on the hand for the plan — The mightiest force of the world is The arm of the average man ! “ He wages all battles and wins them. He builds all towers that soar From the heart and the heat of the city; His hand sets the ships from the shore. ■Without him the general is helpless, The earth but a place for a plan, He moves all, and builds all and feeds all. This sad-smiling, average man! ” Then I lifted my hand in a promise. With'teeth hard-set and my breath Held close in my throat, as I uttered In a vow that shall outlive death : “ I swear that the builder no longer To me shall be less than the plan ; Henceforth 1 give honour and glory — Bein gjust to the average man ! ” —Hamlin Garland, in Exchange.