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William Herbert Carruth (Уильям Херберт Каррут) 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's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1188 |
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