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As some divinely gifted man,
Whose life in low estate began
And on a simple village green;
Who breaks his birth's invidious bar,
And grasps the skirts of happy chance
And breasts the blows of circumstance
And grapples with his evil star;
Who makes by force his merit known
And lives to clutch the golden keys,
To mould a mighty State's decrees
And shape the whisper of the throne;
And moving up from high to higher,
Becomes on Fortune's crowning slope
The pillar of a people's hope,
The centre of a world's desire.
C. H. Loomis.
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