David Atwood Wasson (1823–1887)

COULD one ascend with an unheard-of flight,

And skyward, skyward without limit soar,

As if the pinion of a god he wore,

Till earth were left a dwindling star, whose light

Flew faint upon his track,—at last his height

All height would vanquish; there in deeps of space

Were neither upper nor inferior place:

Distinction’s little zone below him quite.

Oh! happy dreams of such a soul have I,

And softly to my heart of him I sing,

Whose seraph pride all pride doth overwing,

Soars unto meekness, reaches low by high,

And, as in grand equalities of the sky,

Stands level with the beggar and the king.