John Brown

        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