Hear grave philosophers, so limp and frail
They scarce can walk God's earth to breathe his air,
Talk of the waste of time! Short-sighted men!
God made the body just to fit the mind,
Each part exact, no scrimping and no waste--
Neglect the body and you cramp the soul.

First brawny wrestlers, shining from the bath,
Wary and watchful, quick with arm and eye,
After long play clinch close, arms twined, knees locked,
Each nerve and muscle strained, and stand as still
As if a bronze from Vulcan's fabled shop,
Or else by power of magic changed to stone
In that supremest moment, when a breath
Or feather's weight would tip the balanced scale;
And when they fall the shouts from hill to hill
Sound like the voices of the mighty deep,
As wave on wave breaks on the rock-bound shore.

Then boxers, eye to eye and foot to foot,
One arm at guard, the other raised to strike.

The hurlers of the quoit next stand in line,
Measure the distance with experienced eye,
Adjust the rings, swing them with growing speed,
Until at length on very tiptoe poised,
Like Mercury just lighted on the earth,
With mighty force they whirl them through the air.

And then the spearmen, having for a mark