Whilst vile contractors, like the leech,
Suck all the blood within their reach,
Their country drain at every pore
And fatten on her heroes’ gore;
Whilst every quack propounds his plan,
And no place has its proper man;
Where are the men whose mental gaze
Can penetrate the thickest haze,
And see, through instinct, dawning bright
The sun that scatters gloom and night;