William Preston Johnston - Epictetus lyrics

SLAVE of the slave of taht still baser slave, Who, having all things, worshipped self alone, Nero, in whose foul breast, as in a grave, Festered all infamies born of a throne, One Epictetus, a poor cripple shone Upon a darkened world as shines a star Through a dim, clouded dawn, and, to the moan Of human pain that welled up near and far, Pointed in silence to his scourge and scar, Or spoke to fainting hearts, "Who would be strong,-- Balm for the sores of peace, the wounds of war-- Must learn to suffer and to do no wrong." His words, his life, to men a lesson gave That made Aurelius pattern on the slave.