- Had he been made of such poor clay as we,
- Who, when we feel a little fire aglow
'Gainst wrong within us, dare not let it grow,
- But crouch and hide it, lest the scorner see
- And sneer, yet bask our self--complacency
- In that faint warmth--had he been fashioned so,
The nation n'er had come to that birth-throe
- That gave the world a new humanity.
- He was no vain professor of the word--
- His life a mockery of the creed;--he made
- No discount on the Golden Rule, but heard
- Above the Senate's brawls and din of trade
- Ever the clank of chains, until he stirred
- The nation's heart on that immortal raid.
__William Herbert Carruth