Out of the mess that stifled us,
Black as the swamp from pole to pole,
I thank Almighty God that be,
For this unconquerable soul.
In the vile clutch of “journalists,”
He never quit nor cried aloud.
Despite the blizzard of their lies,
He stood un-bloodied and unbowed.
Against their seas of perfidy,
So often he was forced to wade.
And yet this menace of the years,
Still found him, always, unafraid.
It matters not how neat his pate,
How filled with libel is their scroll,
He is the master of his fate:
He is the captain of his soul.