Classic Poem

A thin, spare man he was, of anxious look,
Of stooping figure, and of middling size;
A strict old-fashioned reader of the Book,
Yet one not blessed with unbeclouded eyes;
The one dim talent it was his to prize;—
Believer he in ‘signs,’ in lucky stars;
Was always clad in antiquated guise;
Lacked both the courage and the force of Mars;
And always came off vanquished in domestic jars.