Richard Henry Stoddard

This man whose homely face you look upon, Was one of Nature’s masterful great men; Born with strong arms that unfought victories won. Direct of speech, and cunning with the pen, Chosen for large designs, he had the art Of winning with his humor, and he went Straight to his mark, which was the human heart. Wise, too, for what he could not break, he bent; Upon his back, a more than Atlas load, The burden of the Commonwealth was laid; He stooped and rose up with it, though the road Shot suddenly downwards, not a whit dismayed. Hold, warriors, councilors, kings! All now give place To this dead Benefactor of the Race.