For all who weary in battle

An English teacher shared these lines with the class on the first day of class as some of his favorite poetry. I loved it, and so I thought I'd share it here to honor and encourage anyone who's ever fought a battle, who's been hurt or is hurting lately, anyone who's been discouraged or exhausted in any endeavor.

I'm having trouble finding the eloquence to express what I want this to communicate, so I think I'll stop trying and let it speak for itself.

Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs:
the deep Moans round with many voices.
Come, my friends, 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

--from "Ulysses" by Alfred Lord Tennyson

(painting above: "Snow Storm" by Joseph Mallord William Turner)