Judging from Wilson's virile virtue-voice,

Whose whisper hushed Earth's Hum, were we not proud

To have him cross the sea to speak aloud

And, with a finger raised, hush battle noise,

And lift all lands to Justice's equipoise?

Oh, such his truth to God,—so oft avowed,—

A spirit thund'red from a luminous cloud:

"This man crowns Lincoln's work. All Men! Rejoice."

Oh, had he read his bible where St. Paul,

Grown man, put off child things—or, had not smiled,

When told, strong Ego oft, is man grown child!

Look! Who sees not an Epoch's Angel Fall

From hope for earth, in Wilson's truth, beguiled

By second childhood's toys to play with thrall?