The mighty scorned him, vilified, oppressed;
The bitter cup of poverty and pain
Forced him to drink. He was misfortune’s guest
Through weary, weary years; his anguish’d brain
Shed tears of pity—wrath—for Mankind’s woe;
For his own sorrows tears could never flow.
He loved the people with a brother’s love;
He hated tyrants with a tyrant’s hate.
He turned from kings below, to God above—
The King of kings, who smites the wicked great.