It takes big men to deal with little towns
And not themselves grow smaller year by year;
To stand the endless flick of envious tongues,
Nor mind too much. To see the reason clear--
The aching need for power or for love;
the bitter emptiness of those who fear
The slipping decades; and slow week by week,
The gentle, awful patience of the meek.
Who know they bear within them some great lack
Of vigor to attack or yet hit back.
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Yet one who truly knows his town will find
It's people not more cruel than they're kind.
He'll see the shining goodness - - - all the care
They give the sick or needy neighbor there;
He'll see the washerwoman's younger son
Out playing with the banker's. They are one.
Small-town folks, that if folks be clean
And pay their bill, they'll wait till it be seen
Which has the better boy.
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But he who does not truly know will see
Only the smallness and the snobbery,
And slowly with the years he will become
The thing he sees - - - the essence of the sum.
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