And the man comes up from the crowd.
The chasers of trifles run hither and yon,
And the mean little days of small trifles go on,
And the world seems no better at sunset than dawn,
And the race still increases its plentiful spawn,
And the voice of our wailing is loud.
Then the great deed calls out for the great man to come,
And the crowd unbelieving, sits sullen and dumb—
But the great deed is done, for the great man is come—
Ay, the man comes up from the crowd. (Text.)