To Benedict Spinosa

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O pure as Christ, as deeply-souled I
Whose life an alder-shaded stream,
Hid from the broad day's garish beam,
In hush of thought unmurmuring rolled.
Thou outcast of an outcast race!
From loyalty to truth no lure
Thy step could turn,—its path obscure
Content with even tread to pace.
With surer foot who could have scaled
The vulgar heights? Conformist,—thee
With loud acclaim and jubilee
Rabbles and rabbins would have hailed.
With tardy recognition now
Memorial honors thee await,
There, where on earth thine humble fate
Thou didst accept with placid brow.
B. W. Ball.

  • B. W. Ball, “To Benedict Spinosa,” The Radical Review 1, no. 1 (May 1877): 24.