The lowliest born of all the land, <br />He wrung from Fate's reluctant hand <br />The gifts which happier boyhood claims; <br />And, tasting on a thankless soil <br />The bitter bread of unpaid toil, <br />He fed his soul with noble aims. <br /> <br />And Nature, kindly provident, <br />To him the future's promise lent; <br />The powers that shape man's destinies, <br />Patience and faith and toil, he knew, <br />The close horizon round him grew, <br />Broad with great possibilities. <br /> <br />By the low hearth-fire's fitful blaze <br />He read of old heroic days, <br />The sage's thought, the patriot's speech; <br />Unhelped, alone, himself he taught, <br />His school the craft at which he wrought, <br />His lore the book within his, reach. <br /> <br />He felt his country's need; he knew <br />The work her children had to do; <br />And when, at last, he heard the call <br />In her behalf to serve and dare, <br />Beside his senatorial chair <br />He stood the unquestioned peer of all. <br /> <br />Beyond the accident of birth <br />He proved his simple manhood's worth; <br />Ancestral pride and classic grace <br />Confessed the large-brained artisan, <br />So clear of sight, so wise in plan <br />And counsel, equal to his place. <br /> <br />With glance intuitive he saw <br />Through all disguise of form and law, <br />And read men like an open book; <br />Fearless and firm, he never quailed <br />Nor turned aside for threats, nor failed <br />To do the thing he undertook. <br /> <br />How wise, how brave, he was, how well <br />He bore himself, let history tell <br />While waves our flag o'er land and sea, <br />No black thread in its warp or weft; <br />He found dissevered States, he left <br />A grateful Nation, strong and free!<br /><br />John Greenleaf Whittier<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/wilson/
