He brings man's freedom in his hands, Not as a coin that may be spent or lost But as a living fire within the heart, Never quite quenched — because h… - Stephen Vincent Benét
" "He brings man's freedom in his hands, Not as a coin that may be spent or lost But as a living fire within the heart, Never quite quenched — because he brings to all, The thought, the wish, the dream of brotherhood, Never and never to be wholly lost, The water and the bread of the oppressed, The stay and succor of the resolute, The harness of the valiant and the brave, The new word that has changed the shaken world. And, though he die, his word shall grow like wheat And every time a child is born, In pain and love and freedom hardly won, Born and gone forth to help and aid mankind, There will be women with a right to say "Gloria, gloria in excelsis deo! A child is born!"
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About Stephen Vincent Benét
Stephen Vincent Benét (22 July 1898 – 13 March 1943) was an American author, poet, short story writer and novelist.
Biography information from Wikiquote
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Stephen Vincent Benet
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Additional quotes by Stephen Vincent Benét
For those denounced by their smug, horrible children For a peppermint-star and the praise of the Perfect State, For all those strangled, gelded or merely starved To make perfect states; for the priest hanged in his cassock, The Jew with his chest crushed in and his eyes dying, The revolutionist lynched by the private guards To make perfect states, in the names of the perfect states.
Was it not better so to lie? The fight was done. Even gods tire Of fighting... My way was the wrong. Now I should drift and drift along To endless quiet, golden peace... And let the tortured body cease. And then a light winked like an eye. . . . And very many miles away A girl stood at a warm, lit door, Holding a lamp. Ray upon ray It cloaked the snow with perfect light. And where she was there was no night Nor could be, ever. God is sure, And in his hands are things secure.
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I stumbled, slipped... and all was gone That I had gained. Once more I lay Before the long bright Hell of ice. And still the light was far away. There was red mist before my eyes Or I could tell you how I went Across the swaying firmament, A glittering torture of cold stars, And how I fought in Titan wars... And died... and lived again upon The rack... and how the horses strain When their red task is nearly done. . . <p> I only know that there was Pain, Infinite and eternal Pain. And that I fell — and rose again.
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