NP but Melville sees US now

[alice wellintown]

Mister we could use a man like Andrew Jackson,  Again.
Didn't need no Occupy Hoover tents,
Controlled or stabilized apartment rents.
Freaks was in the Circus tents,
Those were the daze.
And you knew who married then
Gails to Guys not men to men
Mister we could use a guy like Richard Nixon, Again.
Gold was still a standard then,
Roosters cocks and chickens hens,
we died before we wore Depends
dose wuz dugh daze.

Men may seem detestable as joint stock-companies and nations; knaves,
fools, and murderers there may be; men may have mean and meagre faces;
but, man, in the ideal, is so noble and so sparkling, such a grand and
glowing creature, that over any ignominious blemish in him all his
fellows should run to throw their costliest robes. That immaculate
manliness we feel within ourselves, so far within us, that it remains
intact though all the outer character seem gone; bleeds with keenest
anguish at the undraped spectacle of a valor-ruined man. Nor can piety
itself, at such a shameful sight, completely stifle her upbraidings
against the permitting stars. But this august dignity I treat of, is
not the dignity of kings and robes, but that abounding dignity which
has no robed investiture. Thou shalt see it shining in the arm that
wields a pick or drives a spike; that democratic dignity which, on all
hands, radiates without end from God; Himself! The great God absolute!
The centre and circumference of all democracy! His omnipresence, our
divine equality!

If, then, to meanest mariners, and renegades and castaways, I shall
hereafter ascribe high qualities, though dark; weave around them
tragic graces; if even the most mournful, perchance the most abased,
among them all, shall at times lift himself to the exalted mounts; if
I shall touch that workman’s arm with some ethereal light; if I shall
spread a rainbow over his disastrous set of sun; then against all
mortal critics bear me out in it, thou just Spirit of Equality, which
hast spread one royal mantle of humanity over all my kind! Bear me out
in it, thou great democratic God! who didst not refuse to the swart
convict, Bunyan, the pale, poetic pearl; Thou who didst clothe with
doubly hammered leaves of finest gold, the stumped and paupered arm of
old Cervantes; Thou who didst pick up Andrew Jackson from the pebbles;
who didst hurl him upon a war-horse; who didst thunder him higher than
a throne! Thou who, in all Thy mighty, earthly marchings, ever cullest
Thy selectest champions from the kingly commoners; bear me out in it,
O God!