Poems with Power to Strengthen the Soul Part 56

The rich man's son inherits cares; The bank may break, the factory burn, A breath may burst his bubble shares, And soft white hands could hardly earn A living that would serve his turn; A heritage, it seems to me, One scarce would wish to hold in fee.

The rich man's son inherits wants, His stomach craves for dainty fare; With sated heart he hears the pants Of toiling hinds with brown arms bare, And wearies in his easy-chair; A heritage, it seems to me, One scarce would wish to hold in fee.

What doth the poor man's son inherit?

Stout muscles and a sinewy heart; A hardy frame, a hardier spirit, King of two hands, he does his part In every useful toil and art; A heritage, it seems to me, A king might wish to hold in fee.

What doth the poor man's son inherit?

Wishes o'erjoyed with humble things, A rank adjudged by toil-won merit, Content that from employment springs, A heart that in his labor sings; A heritage, it seems to me, A king might wish to hold in fee.

What doth the poor man's son inherit?

A patience learned of being poor, Courage, if sorrow come, to bear it, A fellow-feeling that is sure To make the outcast bless his door; A heritage, it seems to me, A king might wish to hold in fee.

O rich man's son! there is a toil That with all others level stands; Large charity doth never soil, But only whiten soft, white hands; This is the best crop from thy lands, A heritage, it seems to me, Worth being rich to hold in fee.

O poor man's son! scorn not thy state; There is worse weariness than thine In merely being rich and great; Toil only gives the soul to shine, And makes rest fragrant and benign; A heritage, it seems to me, Worth being poor to hold in fee.

Both, heirs to some six feet of sod, Are equal in the earth at last; Both, children of the same dear G.o.d, Prove t.i.tle to your heirship vast By record of a well-filled past; A heritage, it seems to me, Well worth a life to hold in fee.

--James Russell Lowell.

I AM CONTENT

I am content. In trumpet tones My song let people know; And many a mighty man with thrones And scepter is not so.

And if he is I joyful cry, Why, then he's just the same as I.

My motto is--Content with this; Gold--place--I prize not such.

That which I have my measure is: Wise men desire not much.

Men wish and wish, and have their will, And wish again as hungry still.

And gold and honor are besides A very brittle gla.s.s; And time, in his unresting tides Makes all things change and pa.s.s: Turns riches to a beggar's dole; Sets glory's race an infant's goal.

Be n.o.ble--that is more than wealth; Do right--that's more than place; Then in the spirit there is health And gladness in the face: Then thou art with thyself at one And, no man hating, fearest none.

--George Macdonald.

MADAME LOFTY

Mrs. Lofty keeps a carriage, So do I; She has dappled grays to draw it, None have I.

She's no prouder of her coachman Than am I With my blue-eyed laughing baby Trundling by.

I hide his face, lest she should see The cherub boy and envy me.

Her fine husband has white fingers, Mine has not; He can give his bride a palace, Mine a cot.

Hers comes home beneath the starlight, Ne'er cares she; Mine comes in the purple twilight, Kisses me, And prays that He who turns life's sands Will hold his loved ones in his hands.

Mrs. Lofty has her jewels, So have I; She wears hers upon her bosom, Inside I.

She will leave hers at Death's portals, By and by; I shall bear the treasures with me When I die-- For I have love, and she has gold; She counts her wealth, mine can't be told.

She has those who love her station, None have I, But I've one true heart beside me; Glad am I; I'd not change it for a kingdom, No, not I; G.o.d will weigh it in a balance, By and by; And then the difference he'll define 'Twixt Mrs. Lofty's wealth and mine.

So long as life's hope-sparkle glows, 'tis good; When death delivers from life's woes, 'tis good.

Oh praise the Lord who makes all good, and will; Whether he life or death bestows, 'tis good.

THE WIND THAT BLOWS, THAT WIND IS BEST

Whichever way the wind doth blow, Some heart is glad to have it so; Then blow it east or blow it west, The wind that blows, that wind is best.

My little craft sails not alone; A thousand fleet from every zone Are out upon a thousand seas; And what for me were favoring breeze Might dash another with the shock Of doom upon some hidden rock.

And so I do not dare to pray For winds to waft me on my way; But leave it to a Higher Will To stay or speed me, trusting still That ill is well, and sure that He Who launched my bark will sail with me Through storm and calm, and will not fail, Whatever breezes may prevail, To land me, every peril past, Within his sheltering heaven at last.

Then, whatsoever wind doth blow, My heart is glad to have it so; And, blow it east or blow it west, The wind that blows, that wind is best.

--Caroline Atherton Mason.

THE DIFFERENCE

Some murmur, when their sky is clear And wholly bright to view, If one small speck of dark appear In their great heaven of blue.

And some with thankful love are filled If but one streak of light, One ray of G.o.d's good mercy, gild The darkness of their night.

In palaces are hearts that ask, In discontent and pride, Why life is such a dreary task And all things good denied.

Yet hearts in poorest huts admire How love has in their aid (Love that not ever seems to tire) Such rich provision made.

--Richard Chenevix Trench.

Give what Thou canst; without thee we are poor; And with thee rich, take what thou wilt away.

--William Cowper.

RICHES AND POWER

Cleon has a million acres, Ne'er a one have I; Cleon dwelleth in a palace, In a cottage I.

Cleon hath a dozen fortunes, Not a penny I; Yet the poorer of the twain is Cleon, and not I.

Cleon, true, possesseth acres, But the landscape I; Half the charms to me it yieldeth, Money cannot buy.

Cleon harbors sloth and dullness, Freshening vigor I; He in velvet, I in fustian, Richer man am I.

Cleon is a slave to grandeur, Free as thought am I; Cleon fees a score of doctors, Need of none have I.

Wealth-surrounded, care-environed, Cleon fears to die.

Death may come, he'll find me ready.

Happier man am I.

Cleon sees no charm in nature, In a daisy I; Cleon hears no anthem ringing In the sea and sky; Nature sings to me forever, Earnest listener I!

State for state, with all attendants, Who would change? Not I.