Willie’s Question

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Willie’s Question

Is it wrong, the wish to be great,

For I do wish it so?

I have asked already my sister Kate;

She says she does not know.

Yestereve at the gate I stood

Watching the sun in the west;

When I saw him look so grand and good

It swelled up in my breast.

Next from the rising moon

It stole like a silver dart;

In the night when the wind began his tune

It woke with a sudden start.

This morning a trumpet blast

Made all the cottage quake;

It came so sudden and shook so fast

It blew me wide awake.

It told me I must make haste,

And some great glory win,

For every day was running to waste,

And at once I must begin.

I want to be great and strong,

I want to begin to-day;

But if you think it very wrong

I will send the wish away.

Wrong to wish to be great?

No, Willie; it is not wrong:

The child who stands at the high closed gate

Must wish to be tall and strong!

If you did not wish to grow

I should be a sorry man;

I should think my boy was dull and slow,

Nor worthy of his clan.

You are bound to be great, my boy:

Wish, and get up, and do.

Were you content to be little, my joy

Would be little enough in you.

Papa, papa! I’m so glad

That what I wish is right!

I will not lose a chance to be had;

I’ll begin this very night.

I will work so hard at school!

I will waste no time in play;

At my fingers’ ends I’ll have every rule,

For knowledge is power, they say.

I would be a king and reign,

But I can’t be that, and so

Field-marshal I’ll be, I think, and gain

Sharp battles and sieges slow.

I shall gallop and shout and call,

Waving my shining sword:

Artillery, cavalry, infantry, all

Hear and obey my word.

Or admiral I will be,

Wherever the salt wave runs,

Sailing, fighting over the sea,

With flashing and roaring guns.

I will make myself hardy and strong;

I will never, never give in.

I am so glad it is not wrong!

At once I will begin.

Fighting and shining along,

All for the show of the thing!

Any puppet will mimic the grand and strong

If you pull the proper string!

But indeed I want to be great,

I should despise mere show;

The thing I want is the glory-state⁠—

Above the rest, you know!

The harder you run that race,

The farther you tread that track,

The greatness you fancy before your face

Is the farther behind your back.

To be up in the heavens afar,

Miles above all the rest,

Would make a star not the greatest star,

Only the dreariest.

That book on the highest shelf

Is not the greatest book;

If you would be great, it must be in yourself,

Neither by place nor look.

The Highest is not high

By being higher than others;

To greatness you come not a step more nigh

By getting above your brothers.

I meant the boys at school,

I did not mean my brother.

Somebody first, is there the rule⁠—

It must be me or another.

Oh, Willie, it’s all the same!

They are your brothers all;

For when you say, “Hallowed be thy name!”

Whose Father is it you call?

Could you pray for such rule to him?

Do you think that he would hear?

Must he favour one in a greedy whim

Where all are his children dear?

It is right to get up and do,

But why outstrip the rest?

Why should one of the many be one of the few?

Why should you think to be best?

Then how am I to be great?

I know no other way;

It would be folly to sit and wait,

I must up and do, you say!

I do not want you to wait,

For few before they die

Have got so far as begin to be great,

The lesson is so high.

I will tell you the only plan

To climb and not to fall:

He who would rise and be greater than

He is, must be servant of all.

Turn it each way in your mind,

Try every other plan,

You may think yourself great, but at length you’ll find

You are not even a man.

Climb to the top of the trees,

Climb to the top of the hill,

Get up on the crown of the sky if you please,

You’ll be a small creature still.

Be admiral, poet, or king,

Let praises fill both your ears,

Your soul will be but a windmill thing

Blown round by its hopes and fears.

Then put me in the way,

For you, papa, are a man:

What thing shall I do this very day?⁠—

Only be sure I can.

I want to know⁠—I am willing,

Let me at least have a chance!

Shall I give the monkey-boy my shilling?⁠—

I want to serve at once.

Give all your shillings you might

And hurt your brothers the more;

He only can serve his fellows aright

Who goes in at the little door.

We must do the thing we must

Before the thing we may;

We are unfit for any trust

Till we can and do obey.

I will try more and more;

I have nothing now to ask;

Obedience I know is the little door:

Now set me some hard task.

No, Willie; the father of all,

Teacher and master high,

Has set your task beyond recall,

Nothing can set it by.

What is it, father dear,

That he would have me do?

I’d ask himself, but he’s not near,

And so I must ask you!

Me ’tis no use to ask,

I too am one of his boys!

But he tells each boy his own plain task;

Listen, and hear his voice.

Father, I’m listening so

To hear him if I may!

His voice must either be very low,

Or very far away!

It is neither hard to hear,

Nor hard to understand;

It is very low, but very near,

A still, small, strong command.

I do not hear it at all;

I am only hearing you!

Think: is there nothing, great or small,

You ought to go and do?

Let me think:⁠—I ought to feed

My rabbits. I went away

In such a hurry this morning! Indeed

They’ve not had enough to-day!

That is his whisper low!

That is his very word!

You had only to stop and listen, and so

Very plainly you heard!

That duty’s the little door:

You must open it and go in;

There is nothing else to do before,

There is nowhere else to begin.

But that’s so easily done!

It’s such a trifling affair!

So nearly over as soon as begun.

For that he can hardly care!

You are turning from his call

If you let that duty wait;

You would not think any duty small

If you yourself were great.

The nearest is at life’s core;

With the first, you all begin:

What matter how little the little door

If it only let you in?

Papa, I am come again:

It is now three months and more

That I’ve tried to do the thing that was plain,

And I feel as small as before.

Your honour comes too slow?

How much then have you done?

One foot on a mole-heap, would you crow

As if you had reached the sun?

But I cannot help a doubt

Whether this way be the true:

The more I do to work it out

The more there comes to do;

And yet, were all done and past,

I should feel just as small,

For when I had tried to the very last⁠—

’Twas my duty, after all!

It is only much the same

As not being liar or thief!

One who tried it found even, with shame,

That of sinners he was the chief!

My boy, I am glad indeed

You have been finding the truth!

But where’s the good? I shall never speed⁠—

Be one whit greater, in sooth!

If duty itself must fail,

And that be the only plan,

How shall my scarce begun duty prevail

To make me a mighty man?

Ah, Willie! what if it were

Quite another way to fall?

What if the greatness itself lie there⁠—

In knowing that you are small?

In seeing the good so good

That you feel poor, weak, and low;

And hungrily long for it as for food,

With an endless need to grow?

The man who was lord of fate,

Born in an ox’s stall,

Was great because he was much too great

To care about greatness at all.

Ever and only he sought

The will of his Father good;

Never of what was high he thought,

But of what his Father would.

You long to be great; you try;

You feel yourself smaller still:

In the name of God let ambition die;

Let him make you what he will.

Who does the truth, is one

With the living Truth above:

Be God’s obedient little son,

Let ambition die in love.