John Brown.

Writ in between the lines of his life-deed         We trace the sacred service of a heart         Answering the Divine command, in every part         Bearing on human weal: His love did feed         The loveless; and his gentle hands did lead         The blind, and lift the weak, and balm the smart         Of other wounds than rankled at the dart         In his own breast, that gloried thus to bleed.         He served the lowliest first - nay, them alone -         The most despised that e'er wreaked vain breath         In cries of suppliance in the reign whereat         Red Guilt sate squat upon her spattered throne. -         For these doomed there it was he went to death.         God! how the merest man loves one like that!