No lightning flashed its symbols on that day:
And only Poverty and Fate pressed on,
To serve as handmaids where he lowly lay.
“And up from Earth and toil, he slowly won,——
Pressed by a bitterness he proudly spurned,
Till by grim courage, born from sun to sun,
He turned defeat, as victory is turned.”
Edwin Markham concluded a centennial poem as follows:
“He held his place——
Held the long purpose like a growing tree——