The Man Of The Nation.

Yonder the band is playing
    And the fine young people walk.
They are envying each other and talking
    Their pretty empty talk.

There, in the shade on the outskirts,
    Stretched on the grass, I see
A man with a slouch hat, smoking.
    That is the man for me!

That is the Man of the Nation;
    He works and much endures.
When all the rest is rotten,
    He rises and cuts and cures.

He's the soldier of the Crimea,
    Fighting to honour fools;
He's the grappler and strangler of Lee
    Lord of the terrible tools.

He's in all the conquered nations
    That have won their own at last,
And in all that yet shall win it.
    And the world by him goes past!

O strong sly world, this nameless
    Still, much-enduring Man,
Is the hand of God that shall clutch you
    For all you have done, or can!