I hope that at the end of the seven years, people will say that I

In the words of Michael D. Higgins, poet-president and guardian of the Irish spirit, we find a reflection of deep humility and higher purpose: “I hope that at the end of the seven years, people will say that I have been of some inspirational value to them at home in terms of inclusiveness, and abroad, I look forward to representing Ireland.” Within this declaration lies the essence of noble leadership — not domination, but service; not self-glory, but legacy. For the true measure of power is not how loudly it commands, but how gently it uplifts.

To speak of inspiration in the voice of a ruler is rare, for many seek to be remembered for might or achievement. Yet Higgins, a man of letters and empathy, speaks instead of inclusiveness, of the quiet work of weaving a people together after centuries of division, struggle, and transformation. His hope is not to be exalted, but to have kindled hope — to have stood as a mirror in which his people might see the best of themselves reflected back with dignity and pride. This is the aspiration of the philosopher-king, the ancient ideal where intellect, compassion, and vision dwell in the same heart.

When Higgins speaks of his seven years, he alludes to his presidential term — a symbolic journey not unlike the seven labors or trials that the ancients often spoke of, through which the soul is tested and refined. For seven years, he seeks not riches or conquest, but to be remembered as one who brought unity to the hearth and honor to the homeland. To be “of value” — even this phrase carries humility, as though he asks not for monuments, but for meaning. The ancients would call this the virtue of areté — the excellence of spirit that seeks goodness for its own sake.

Consider Marcus Aurelius, emperor of Rome and philosopher of the Stoic way. He too ruled not to be adored, but to serve the greater harmony. In his meditations, he wrote, “Waste no more time arguing what a good man should be. Be one.” Like Higgins, he viewed leadership as stewardship, and greatness as a trust bestowed by the people. Both men understood that to represent a nation — as Higgins speaks of representing Ireland abroad — is to carry not one’s own ambition, but the heart and history of millions. It is to walk as both symbol and servant.

Inclusiveness — this word, central to Higgins’ vision, is a torch passed down through the centuries, lighting the path of peace. It is the opposite of pride; it is the art of belonging. To be inclusive is to recognize that every soul, no matter how humble or different, is a vital thread in the fabric of a nation. In this, Higgins follows the lineage of Ireland’s poets — Yeats, Heaney, and the mystics before them — who saw the divine in the ordinary and the sacred in the shared. A leader who builds inclusiveness builds immortality, for he sows harmony where others sow division.

And when Higgins turns his gaze abroad, his hope is not for Ireland’s dominance, but for its dignity — to represent a land of song, spirit, and resilience before the eyes of the world. Like an ancient bard, he carries stories instead of swords, culture instead of conquest. For in a world of noise and power, the quiet strength of integrity shines brightest. His wish is not to impress foreign courts, but to embody the eternal Ireland — a nation of compassion, courage, and creativity.

Thus, dear listener, let us take from his words a living lesson: seek not to be admired, but to inspire; strive not to rule others, but to include them; and when you walk beyond your home, carry its goodness within you, as a lantern for others to see. Whether you lead a family, a community, or a nation, remember that greatness is born from service, not stature. Let your legacy be not the echo of your name, but the light you leave behind in the lives of others.

And so, when your own seven years — or seventy — draw to a close, may people say of you, as Higgins hoped they would of him: “They were of inspirational value.” For no higher praise can be spoken of a human being than this — that they lived not only for themselves, but for the betterment of all.