But follow! Come thou down, and let the cold
Cramp-headed cynics yelp alone, and leave
The mugwump scoffers there to shape and sleek
Their thousand paragraphs of acrid joke
That like a squirting fountain waste in air:
So waste thou not; but come; for hunger pale
Awaits thee; haggard pillars of the hearth
Appeal to thee; slum children call, and now
The Crowd's astir, with every man a Vote
To give him voice, and in that voice you'll hear