How can you, then, a prisoner make,
When his Mind's as free as space?
You may chain his feet, and hands, and neck,
And tightly bind his face,
Do what you please, and as you please,
You cannot help but see—
That man is man, where e'er he be,
Because his mind is free!
His mind may roam back to his home,
You cannot tie it down,
And folk may look, and scoff, and scowl,
And always wear a frown.
But when of him they a prisoner make,
The mind they never can,
'Cause God ordained the Golden Rule,
"That mind's the standard of the Man."