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