Tulsa daily world. [volume] (Tulsa, Indian Territory [Okla.]) 1905-1919, 1915-06-08
Uncomfortable.

ont Of the night that covered me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole
/ thank whatever gods may be
For my unCunQucrable soul.
In the fen clutch Of circumstance
l have not WINGED nor cried aloud,
Under the hludEeonnEs Of chance
My head is bloody but unbowed.
Beyond the place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror Of the shade
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, ana shall find, me unafraid.
1t matters not how straight the gate
How charged with punishment the
scroll
l am the master Of my fate.
l am the captain of my soul.
One of the greatest poems in any
language is this by William Ernest
Henley
There are differing standards Of
greatness. some judge poem by its
sound. It's euphouious vowels, the per
fcction Of its rhythm and rhyme, its
INT, its peculiar fascination for the
ear: some by its originality, some by
It's Qulintness, its unusual form; some
by its fidelity TO classic models, and
SO on.
| give first rank to Henley's poem
because, first, Of the importance of its
message II IS a trumpet call to the
life forces of us; il arOuscs the souls
reserves 1t appeals to the very man
licst thing i'm man, that thing in him
which Carlyle terms "The Everlasting
No"
After all. any piece Of literature
.t "a fll Ia, 60 IN &c
by It's iuspirational power David's
verse, for instance, "Tho Lord Is My
Shepherd is greater than all or any
of the ingenious rhymes Of Swinburne
or the sounding AlcXandrincs Of Cor
nellie because the images called up by
IL are moro majestic ana awaken the
mind to see more amazing. and more
affecting visions
The choice of words, the literary
workmanship Of "Invictus," however
is faultlcss
There are happy phrases OF the un-
fOrgettahle kind. ."Whatever gods
there be" is a challenge to all the un-
known powers. My unConquerablC
soul" epitomizes the whole right feel
ing of self confidence. My head Is
bloody but unbowed" Is a sharply
drawn picture of the undaunted self
"The menace Of the years visualizes
the whole terror Of apprehension, Of
preseutiment And the last two lines
are pure gold
wish that every discouraged strug-
gler in the battle for existence might
learn these verses by heart; that you,
tired and hungry, as you sit on your
bedside tonight In your mean hall bed
room, might say them over before you
so to sleep
I would that every TEMPTED woman
might repeat these words every day as
she looks at herself in the mirror.
would that every man and woman
who is face to face with the gaunt
wolf Of poverty might speak to the
beast in these brave words.
! would that every soul In dcFpalr
who feels the clouds of failure settling
down upon him would utter these
mighty syllahles as an Incarnation TO
disperse the gloom and bring the sun
back.
II I could write these verses on the
walls OF every mind that contem-
plates suicide l would do more good
than II l gave the gold of benevolent
Croesus.
II could breathe this poem into
the hearts of all of those who contem-
plate the desperation of crime would
be the greatest OF all benefactors
Would that l had q Gabriels horn,
whose tones wold reach the whole
army Of tho defeated, the sad. the
morbid. tho wretched and afraid !
would summon them again to the fir
ing line Of effort, to the heroic attack
OF life upon the dreaded forces OF
surrender and death.
Learn this poem. store it in your