Wallace, created on a noble plan
  To show us that a Judge can be a Man;
  Through moral mire exhaling mortal stench
  God-guided sweet and foot-clean to the Bench;
  In salutation here and sign I lift
  A hand as free as yours from lawless thrift,
  A heart—ah, would I truly could proclaim
  My bosom lighted with so pure a flame!
  Alas, not love of justice moves my pen
  To praise, or to condemn, my fellow men.
  Good will and ill its busy point incite:
  I do but gratify them when I write.
  In palliation, though, I'd humbly state,
  I love the righteous and the wicked hate.
  So, sir, although we differ we agree,
  Our work alike from persecution free,
  And Heaven, approving you, consents to me.
  Take, therefore, from this not all useless hand
  The crown of honor—not in all the land
  One honest man dissenting from the choice,
  Nor in approval one Fred. Crocker's voice!