II
'Tis Wilson takes God's flame from Lincoln's hand.
This Princeton man,—who has outgrown the prince,
A hundred years, and, in the ocean since,
Seen with delight, Eternity expand
And loom in glory from the despot's strand,—
Shapes fourteen dazzling bolts without a wince.
He pauses. Why not hurl them and convince
The world that, hence-forth, not one thrall shall stand?
What! Wilson's arm lacks strength to hurl the flame,
God gave to Lincoln for the Human race?
Look! Look! it falls. What! Gone? Quenched by dark space?
No; it describes an orbit there, the same
As comets, and regains its heavenly place
For one to hurl it true, and doom Earth's Shame.