Had he been made of such poor clay as we, <br />Who, when we feel a little fire aglow <br />'Gainst wrong within us, dare not let it grow, <br />But crouch and hide it, lest the scorner see <br />And sneer, yet bask our self-complacency <br />In that faint warmth - had he been fashioned so, <br />The nation n'er had come to that birth-throe <br />That gave the world a new humanity. <br />He was no vain professor of the word - <br />His life a mockery of the creed; - he made <br />No discount on the Golden Rule, but heard <br />Above the Senate's brawls and din of trade <br />Ever the clank of chains, until he stirred <br />The nation's heart on that immortal raid.<br /><br />William Herbert Carruth<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/john-brown-4/
