lips, and their courage in his heart? Had they not bequeathed to him
their torch-like faith, their patient fervor of toil and their creed
of equality?

But his bright spirit had inherited no trace of their harshness and
gloom. The windows of his soul opened to the sunlight of a joyous
faith. His optimism and genial humor inspired gladness and good
sense in others. With an old story he prepared their minds to
receive new ideas, and with a parable he opened their hearts to
generous feelings. All men loved him because he loved them. They
knew that his heart was in their happiness, and that his humanity
embraced their sorrows. In him the weak found a friend, the
unprotected, a champion. Though a herald and proclaimer of peace, he
could fight stubbornly and passionately on the side of justice. His
was a lovable, uplifting greatness which drew all men near and ever
nearer to God and to each other. Like his ancestors, he dreamed of a
land of freedom founded on the love of God and the brotherhood of
man, a land where each man shall achieve his share of happiness and
learn the work of manhood—to rule himself and “lend a hand.”

Thoughts like these were often in my mind as the poem grew and took
form. It is fitting, therefore, that I should dedicate it to him,
and in so doing I give expression to the love and reverence which I
have felt for him ever since he called me his little cousin, more
than twenty years ago.

HELEN KELLER

Wrentham, Massachusetts,
January, 1910.