THE MEN OF OLD. 193 Still it is true, and over true, That I delight to close This book of life self-wise and new, With rights, tho' not too closely scanned, With will by no reverse unmanned— With pulse of even tone They from to-day and from to-night Expected nothing more Than yesterday and yesternight Had proffered them before. To them was life a simple art Of duties to be done, A game where each man took his part, A battle whose great scheme and scope They little cared to know, Content, as men at arms, to cope Each with his fronting foe. Man now his Virtue's diadem Puts on and proudly wears; Great thoughts, great feelings, came to them Like instincts, unawares: Blending their souls' sublimest needs With tasks of every day, They went about their gravest deeds Modern Poets. 13 194 THE MEN OF OLD. And what if Nature's fearful wound For that their spirits never swooned For that their love but flowed more fast, Their charities more free, Not conscious what mere drops they cast A man's best things are nearest him, It is the distant and the dim That we are sick to greet: For flowers that grow our hands beneath Our hearts must die, except they breathe Yet, brothers, who up Reason's hill O! loiter not, those heights are chill, And still restrain your haughty gaze, Remembering distance leaves a haze Lord Houghton. THE PRIDE OF WORTH. 195 THE PRIDE OF WORTH. Is there, for honest poverty, Our toil's obscure, and a' that; What tho' on hamely fare we dine, For a' that, and a' that, Their tinsel show, and a' that: The honest man, tho' ne'er sae poor, Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, Wha struts, and stares, and a' that; Tho' hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof for a' that: For a' that, and a' that, His riband, star, and a' that, A king can mak a belted knight, But an honest man's aboon his might, For a' that, and a' that, Their dignities, and a' that, The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, Then let us pray that come it may, That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, For a' that, and a' that, It's coming yet, for a' that; That man to man, the warld o'er, Shall brothers be for a' that. GOLD. R. Burns. GOLD! Gold! Gold! Gold! Bright and yellow, hard and cold, Stolen, borrow'd, squander'd, doled; Spurn'd by the young, but hugg'd by the old Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold! Good or bad a thousand-fold! How widely its agencies vary— To save-to ruin-to curse-to bless As even its minted coins express, Now stamp'd with the image of Good Queen Bess, T. Hood. THE WORLDLINESS OF TO-DAY. 197 1 THE WORLDLINESS OF TO-DAY. THE world is too much with us; late and soon, We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! W. Wordsworth. |