Vi

No paragon was he, But moulded in the rough With every fault and scar Ingrained, and plain for all to see: Even as the rocks and mountains are, Common perhaps, yet wrought of such true stuff That common nature in his essence grew To something which till then it never knew; Ay, common as a vast, refreshing wind That sweeps the continent, or as some star Which, 'mid a million, shines out well-defined: With honest soul on duty bent, A servant-soldier, President; Meekest when crowned with victory, And greatest in adversity!