Page:The poems of Emma Lazarus volume 1.djvu/206

192 Tears, love, and honor he shall have, Through ages keeping green his grave. Too late approved, too early lost, His story is the people s boast. Tough-sinewed offspring of the soil, Of peasant lineage, reared to toil, In Europe he had been a thing To the glebe tethered—here a king! Crowned not for some transcendent gift, Genius of power that may lift A Cassar or a Bonaparte Up to the starred goal of his heart; But that he was the epitome Of all the people aim to be. Were they his dying trust ? He was No less their model and their glass. In him the daily traits were viewed Of the undistinguished multitude. Brave as the silent myriads are, Crushed by the juggernaut world-car ; Strong with the people s strength, yet mild, Simple and tender as a child ; Wise with the wisdom of the heart, Able in council, field, and mart ; Nor lacking in the lambent gleam, The great soul s final stamp the beam Of genial fun, the humor sane Wherewith the hero sports with pain. His virtues hold within the span Of his obscurest fellow-man.