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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 oneWhere 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-surpast:Who, whether praise of him must walk the earthFor ever, and to noble deeds give birth,Or He must go to dust without his fame,And leave a dead unprofitable name,
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