THE DIFFERENCE.
105
Yet what of this? You nobly born,
I from the people called to rise,
Is this enough to task your scorn,
Or cause a sneer to blind your eyes?
Then pause a moment ere you go,—
I do not read the difference so.
I from the people called to rise,
Is this enough to task your scorn,
Or cause a sneer to blind your eyes?
Then pause a moment ere you go,—
I do not read the difference so.
I know you dead to honest faith,
And useless with your idle hands,
And stunted by the frozen weight
Of pale, dead honors, house and lands,—
While I, for share in God's great will,
Keep heart and hope unsullied still.
And useless with your idle hands,
And stunted by the frozen weight
Of pale, dead honors, house and lands,—
While I, for share in God's great will,
Keep heart and hope unsullied still.
I know you lost to honest shames,
And false where noble souls aspire,
And trammeled close by petty aims,
A puppet drawn by Fashion's wire,—
While I, along life's devious way,
Still clamber upward day by day.
And false where noble souls aspire,
And trammeled close by petty aims,
A puppet drawn by Fashion's wire,—
While I, along life's devious way,
Still clamber upward day by day.
You have a Present, dead and calm,
No grime to soil your finger-tips,
A perfumed waste of flowers and balm,
But dead-sea apples to the lips;—
I toil and trust with manhood's fire,
To bring to light my soul's desire.
No grime to soil your finger-tips,
A perfumed waste of flowers and balm,
But dead-sea apples to the lips;—
I toil and trust with manhood's fire,
To bring to light my soul's desire.
