There is a power in innocence, a might
⁠Which, clothed in weakness, makes injustice vain:
⁠A strength, o'ertopping reason to explain.
Which bears it—though deep-buried out of sight—
Slowly and surely upward to the light:
⁠A conscious certainty amidst its pain
⁠That, robbed of all things, it shall all regain,
Through that eternal law which guards the right.

O Dreyfus! Thy dear country has restored
⁠More than thine honour in her hour supreme.
⁠⁠Noble, indeed, though able so to err,
⁠God spared thee to her that she might redeem
Herself, and hand thee back thy blameless sword.
⁠⁠Listen! the world salutes—not only thee, but her!