Audentia

Mr. What's His Name

As common as the wayside grass.
As ordinary as the soil.
By the score he daily passes
Going to and from his toil.
Stranger he to wealth or fame.
He is only "What's his name?"

Not for him the glittering glory.
Not for him the places high.
Day by Day the same old story,
Try and fail and fail and try.
Life for him is sometimes dull and tame.
Poor old plodding, "What's his name?"

Tho to someone else the guidon.
Tho but few his worth may know.
On his shoulders rest the burden
Of our progress made so slow.
RED THE ROAD
BY WHICH WE CAME,
WITH THE BLOOD OF,
"WHAT'S HIS NAME?"

-James T. Johnson