Great Poem

Is this blog random or what!?

Here's a poem I found today. I think it's amazing. It was written over two centuries ago by a Scotsman by the name of William Knox .

It wasn't technically titled by the author, so it is also known as "Mortality" or "Immortality". It was Abe Lincoln's favorite poem, he was known for reciting it often, and people used to think he wrote it. Abe said: "I would give all I am worth, and go in debt, to be able to write so fine a piece as I think that is."

OH! WHY SHOULD THE SPIRIT OF MORTAL BE PROUD

by: William Knox (1789-1825)

OH! why should the spirit of mortal be proud?

Like a swift-fleeting meteor, a fast-flying cloud,

A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave,

Man passeth from life to his rest in the grave.




The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade,

Be scattered around, and together be laid;

And the young and the old, and the low and the high

Shall molder to dust and together shall lie.




The infant a mother attended and loved;

The mother that infant's affection who proved;

The husband that mother and infant who blessed,--

Each, all, are away to their dwellings of rest.




The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose eye,

Shone beauty and pleasure,--her triumphs are by;

And the memory of those who loved her and praised

Are alike from the minds of the living erased.




The hand of the king that the sceptre hath borne;

The brow of the priest that the mitre hath worn;

The eye of the sage, and the heart of the brave,

Are hidden and lost in the depth of the grave.




The peasant whose lot was to sow and to reap;

The herdsman who climbed with his goats up the steep;

The beggar who wandered in search of his bread,

Have faded away like the grass that we tread.




The saint who enjoyed the communion of heaven;

The sinner who dared to remain unforgiven;

The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just,

Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust.




So the multitude goes, like the flowers or the weed

That withers away to let others succeed;

So the multitude comes, even those we behold,

To repeat every tale that has often been told.




For we are the same our fathers have been;

We see the same sights our fathers have seen;

We drink the same stream, and view the same sun,

And run the same course our fathers have run.




The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would think;

From the death we are shrinking our fathers would shrink;

To the life we are clinging they also would cling;

But it speeds for us all, like a bird on the wing.




They loved, but the story we cannot unfold;

The scorned, but the heart of the haughty is cold;

They grieved, but no wail from their slumbers will come;

They joyed, but the tongue of their gladness is dumb.




They died, aye! they died; and we things that are now,

Who walk on the turf that lies over their brow,

Who make in their dwelling a transient abode,

Meet the things that they met on their pilgrimage road.




Yea! hope and despondency, pleasure and pain,

We mingle together in sunshine and rain;

And the smiles and the tears, the song and the dirge,

Still follow each other, like surge upon surge.




'Tis the wink of an eye, 'tis the draught of a breath,

From the blossom of health to the paleness of death,

From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud,--

Oh! why should the spirit of mortal be proud?

Post Script: I found this today when I walked into my office and heard a voice say "Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?". I had the mp3 player on random and it had found an old Michael W. Smith song called "Live and Learn". A quick search on the interwebs turned up the source. Now that I think about it... how in the world does this poem relate to this song???