a poem absolutely unrelated to antiquity or religion

I just found the following Dickinson poem striking, although it is not directly related to the general issues of this blog:

We never know how high we are
Till we are called to rise;
And then, if we are true to plan,
Our statures touch the skies.

The heroism we recite
Would be a daily thing,
Did not ourselves the cubits warp
For fear to be a king.