Dost thou look back on what hath been,
⁠As some divinely gifted man,
⁠Whose life in low estate began
And on a simple village green;

Who breaks his birth's invidious bar,
⁠And grasps the skirts of happy chance,
⁠And breasts the blows of circumstance,
And grapples with his evil star;

Who makes by force his merit known
⁠And lives to clutch the golden keys,
⁠To mould a mighty state's decrees,
And shape the whisper of the throne;

And moving up from high to higher,
⁠Becomes on Fortune's crowning slope
⁠The pillar of a people's hope,
The centre of a world's desire;