X. MAN TO MAN.
I
Stand up, man! stand!
God's over all.
Why do you cringe to me,
Why do you bend the knee,
And creep, and fawn, and crawl?
Stand up, man, stand!
If I thought our English land
Had no true-hearted poor,
To suffer—and endure—
And hold themselves erect,
In the light of their own respect,
I'd blush that I was English born,
And run away to the wilderness to free myself from scorn.
II
Stand up man, stand!
God made us all!
The wine transcends the froth—
The living skin, the cloth—
Both rich and poor are small.
Stand up, man, stand!
Free heart, free tongue, free hand,
Firm foot upon the sod,
And eyes that fear but God,—
Whate'er your state or name,
Let these prefer your claim!
If there be anything you want—
Speak up! we may respect a churl, but we hate a sycophant.
