highest dower;
   Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves
   Of their bad influence, and their good receives: 
   By objects, which might force the soul to abate
   Her feeling, rendered more compassionate;
   Is placable—­because occasions rise
   So often that demand such sacrifice;
   More skilful in self-knowledge, even more pure,
   As tempted more; more able to endure
   As more exposed to suffering and distress;
   Thence, also, more alive to tenderness. 
   —­’Tis he whose law is reason; who depends
   Upon that law as on the best of friends;
   Whence, in a state where men are tempted still
   To evil for a guard against worse ill,
   And what in quality or act is best
   Doth seldom on a right foundation rest,
   He labours good on good to fix, and owes
   To virtue every triumph that he knows: 
   —­Who, if he rise to station of command,
   Rises by open means; and there will stand
   On honourable terms, or else retire,
   And in himself possess his own desire;
   Who comprehends his trust, and to the same
   Keeps faithful with a singleness of aim;
   And therefore does not stoop, nor lie in wait
   For wealth, or honours, or for worldly state;
   Whom they must follow; on whose head must fall,
   Like showers of manna, if they come at all: 
   Whose flowers shed round him in the common strife,
   Or mild concerns of ordinary life,
   A constant influence, a peculiar grace;
   But who, if he be called upon to face
   Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined
   Great issues, good or bad for human kind,
   Is happy as a Lover; and attired
   With sudden brightness, like a Man inspired;
   And, through the heat of conflict, keeps the law
   In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw;
   Or if an unexpected call succeed,
   Come when it will, is equal to the need: 
   —­He who, though thus endued as with a sense
   And faculty for storm and turbulence,
   Is yet a Soul whose master-bias leans
   To home-felt pleasures and to gentle scenes;
   Sweet images! which, wheresoe’er he be,
   Are at his heart; and such fidelity
   It is his darling passion to approve;
   More brave for this, that he hath much to love:—­
   ’Tis finally, the man who, lifted high,
   Conspicuous object in a Nation’s eye,
   Or left unthought of in obscurity,—­
   Who, with a toward or untoward lot,
   Prosperous or adverse, to his wish or not—­
   Plays, in the many games of life, that one
   Where what he most doth value must be won: 
   Whom neither shape of danger can dismay,
   Nor thought of tender happiness betray;
   Who, not content that former worth stand fast,
   Looks forward, persevering to the last,
   From well to better, daily self-surpassed: 
   Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth
   For ever, and to noble deeds give