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Not to a president or chief
Or ruler do I make this toast;
No tribute just because a man
Has reached the nation's highest post.
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I pass the point of mere success
And, unmoved by his rise to fame,
Pay tribute to a kindly man
Who, stricken, rights and wins the game.
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Not merely as a statesman are
His praises gladly by me sung;
I toast a man whose heart and hand
Have eased the anguish of the
young.
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A man who felt affliction strike --
Who grappled with it with a grin
And, winning, plunged into a fight
To help the stricken millions win.
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A man who, felled in flush of health,
Made of his fate a swift crusade
That little children, crippled, might
Look to the future unafraid.
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So lift your glasses to a man
Beneath whose gaze a Plague seems spent;
I think he'd rather rest on this
Than be a king or president.
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