He ruminates Upon the pebbles and Demosthenes, And sets his will to be an orator That he may herald truth and save the world. After much toil, re-writing, he delivers A speech he calls, "Ich Dien," and loses out Against a youth who speaks on Liberty. And then he uses Gladstone for his theme, The Christian Statesman; for exordium Tells of the ermine which will die before It suffers soilure--that was Gladstone--yes! But still he cannot win the prize; a boy Who talks about the labors of Charles Darwin, His suffering and sacrifice, is awarded The prize this time--a boy who had the wit To speak in praise of Darwin's virtues--saying Nothing about his hellish doctrines, thus Winning the cautious judges to his theme. But is our little Gladstone crushed, dismayed? He plucks up further strength and takes a hint: A larger subject may bring down the prize. He thinks of Thomas Jefferson--but then Jefferson was a deist, took the Bible And cut out everything but Jesus' words. "Yet I can speak on what was good in him, His work for liberty, the Declaration, And close my eyes to all his heterodoxy." Then something of this plan crept like a snake Into his brain, he petted it with hands: Be ye as wise as serpents, and as doves Harmless, he smiled--and went to work again, And won the prize. And now he has stepped forth Into the world's arena to become A Savior, an evangel, as he thinks, In truth a pest. He runs for Congress first And when his manager takes out a check And shows him, given by the local brewery, Another check a bank gives, he maintains A smiling silence, thinking to himself, Jesus accepted gifts from publicans, And if I am elected then this money, However dirty, will be purified By what I do. But then he was defeated. He thinks the banks and breweries did the trick. In truth they knew the Christian Statesman, knew The oleaginous smile and silver voice Concealed the despot. Did he scourge them then? Well, scarcely then--he wrote a public letter And said the people had decided it. And what the people said was law. He nerved His purpose for another trial--that body So big and flawless could not be exhausted-- That voice still carried to the farthest corner, That oily smile deceived the multitude That he was hurt, embittered, only waited To see if body, voice and oily smile Could win by any means; if not, the scourge Would be brought forth, the smile dropped, the complaints Against the breweries, what not, opened up, Unmasked. For when your hope is gone, you're free To scold and tell your bitterness.