White-lipp'd sneerer, well I wot
How you loathe the great and wise,
How his brightness is a blot
On your thunder-mantled skies;
How his fame and good men's love
Make him hateful in your eyes,
And when thus he soars above,
How you ache to see him rise!

O you seeming friend, found out,
In detraction is your bliss,--
Whispering petty blame about,
With a subtle serpent's hiss;
Lo, the great man scorns it all;
Lo, the wise man makes it miss:
Lo, the good man greets your gall
With a kind forgiving kiss!

Brothers! who have nobly earn'd
Thanks and praise at least from man,
If your good with scorn is spurn'd,
And your blessing met by ban,
Brothers! heed we not their hate
Who would harm but never can,--
With the wise, the good, the great,
Let us conquer in the van!