A tempering of will in these trotting months Whose strong hoofs striking have scarred him again and again. He still rules more by the rein than by whip or spur But the reins are fast in his hands and the horses know it. He no longer says “I think,” but “I have decided.” And takes the strength and the burden of such decision For good or bad on himself. He will bear all things But lack of faith in the Union and that not once. Now at last he decides to recall McClellan’s army For right or wrong. We see the completed thing, Long afterward, knowing all that was still to come, And say “He was wrong.” He saw the incomplete, The difficult chance that might turn a dozen ways And so decided. Be it so. He was wrong.