Born Leader

Great souls are their own fate, and but the strong
     Are the pre-destined: in a conquerless
     And wise Will works the magic of success; 
Tower-high invites the lightning, mountain-high 
Soars above thunder in a cloudless sky,
     And spreads below the mining sap of wrong.
     Such is the Hero on whose brows belong 
The regal wreaths of natural sovereignty,
     Around whose footsteps well the springs of Song, 
And whose calm paths are steep with majesty. 
Climb there who will, they can not hold him back;
     His eye is upward, and his foot is firm; 
He rears wronged Honor to his eagle track.
     And dates anew old Right's expiring term.