Invictus

There's this poem by William Ernest Henley (later entitled 'Invictus' meaning unconquered) that you may have heard of. Henley wrote it from a hospital bed in 1875 after having one leg amputated from the knee down due to tuberculosis. It goes a little something like this:


Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.



I like this poem. As Daniel K. Judd stated, "Henley's poem rings with a certain strength." However, there's another poem I'd like to share alongside Invictus. This one was written by Orson F. Whitney of the Quorum of the Twelve in 1926 as a response to Invictus.



Art thou in truth?
Then what of him
Who bought thee with his blood?
Who plunged into devouring seas
And snatched thee from the flood?

Who bore for all our fallen race
What none but him could bear. -
The God who died that man might live,
And endless glory share.

Of what avail thy vaunted strength,
Apart from his vast might?
Pray that his Light may pierce the gloom,
That thou mayest see aright.

Men are as bubbles on the wave,
As leaves upon the tree.
Thou, captain of the soul, forsooth!
Who gave that place to thee?

Free will is thine - free agency,
To wield for right or wrong;
But thou must answer unto him
To whom all souls belong.

Bend to the dust that head "unbowed,"
Small part of Life's great whole
And see in him, and him alone,
The Captain of thy soul.



For all the strength that the former rings with, I think it's utterly eclipsed by the truth in the rebuke of the latter.