Submission
There are times when the right thing to do is to submit. There are times when the right thing is to strive, to fight. To put forth one’s best effort is itself a reward. But sometimes it brings a material reward also. The frog that after falling into the churn found that it couldn’t jump out and wouldn’t try, was drowned. The frog that kept leaping in brave but seemingly hopeless endeavor at last churned the milk, mounted the butter for a final effort, and escaped.
Submission? They have preached at that so long.
As though the head bowed down would right the wrong,
As though the folded hand, the coward heart
Were saintly signs of souls sublimely strong;
As though the man who acts the waiting part
And but submits, had little wings a-start.
But may I never reach that anguished plight
Where I at last grow weary of the fight.
Submission: “Wrong of course must ever be
Because it ever was. ’Tis not for me
To seek a change; to strike the maiden blow.
’Tis best to bow the head and not to see;
’Tis best to dream, that we need never know
The truth. To turn our eyes away from woe.”
Perhaps. But ah—I pray for keener sight,
And may I not grow weary of the fight.