Classic Poem

" Oh, Uncle Sam, " they said, " has grown fat and loves his ease,
And he lingers long at table and distends his growing girth;
The strong arm we used to know has grown sluggard-like and slow,
And they mock his smug indifference to the ends of all the earth.

" As his money bags grow heavy does his love of man grow small,
As his cushioned chair grows softer does his calloused heart grow hard;
He is careless of his fame and the glory of his name,
And the vision of the prophet and the rapture of the bard.

" And the tyrants in their anger lash their slaves before his eyes,
And he turns his sleepy features tow'rd their faces hot with tears,
And he sits between his seas in his soft, voluptuous ease,
And the voices of their torment smite his undiscerning ears. "

Ah, the slander of the tongues that proclaimed his heart was cold!
Ah, the error of the dotage that believed his arm was weak!
Ah, the folly, mad and dire, that provoked the slow to ire,
And the pride that's in the careless, and the might that's in the meek!

He has risen from his feasting, the old look is on his face,
For the voices of the helpless and the dying throng his path,
For he sees at last their tears, and their groans are in his ears,
And his arm is clothed with thunder, and his heart is nerved with wrath!

We have wronged him, the forbearing, him the patient, slow to smite,
And we love him more than ever and are prouder of his fame;
And we weep the taunts we uttered and the whispered sneers we muttered —
For his guns before Manila silenced all the tongues of blame.