NATURE'S GENTLEMAN.
Whom do we dub as gentlemen? The knave, the fool, the brute—
If they but own full tithe of gold, and wear a courtly suit;
The parchment scroll of titled line, the riband at the knee;
Can still suffice to ratify and grant such high degree:
But Nature with a matchless hand, sends forth her nobly born,
And laughs the paltry attributes of wealth and rank to scorn;
She moulds with care, a spirit rare, half human, half divine,
And cries, exulting, "Who can make a gentleman like mine?"
If they but own full tithe of gold, and wear a courtly suit;
The parchment scroll of titled line, the riband at the knee;
Can still suffice to ratify and grant such high degree:
But Nature with a matchless hand, sends forth her nobly born,
And laughs the paltry attributes of wealth and rank to scorn;
She moulds with care, a spirit rare, half human, half divine,
And cries, exulting, "Who can make a gentleman like mine?"
She may not spend her common skill about the outward part,
But showers beauty, grace, and light, upon the brain and heart:
She may not use ancestral fame his pathway to illume—
The sun that sheds the brightest ray may rise from mist and gloom.
Should Fortune pour her welcome store, and useful gold abound,
He shares it with a bounteous hand, and scatters blessings round.
The treasure sent is rightly spent, and serves the end design'd,
When held by Nature's gentleman, the good, the just, the kind.
But showers beauty, grace, and light, upon the brain and heart:
She may not use ancestral fame his pathway to illume—
The sun that sheds the brightest ray may rise from mist and gloom.
Should Fortune pour her welcome store, and useful gold abound,
He shares it with a bounteous hand, and scatters blessings round.
The treasure sent is rightly spent, and serves the end design'd,
When held by Nature's gentleman, the good, the just, the kind.
He turns not from the cheerless home where Sorrow's offspring dwell;
He'll greet the peasant in his hut, the culprit in his cell;
He stays to hear the widow's plaint, of deep and mourning love;
He seeks to aid her lot below, and prompt her faith above.
The orphan child, the friendless one, the luckless, or the poor,
Will never meet his spurning frown, nor leave his bolted door;
His kindred circles all mankind, his country all the globe—
An honest name his jewell'd star, and truth his ermine robe.
He'll greet the peasant in his hut, the culprit in his cell;
He stays to hear the widow's plaint, of deep and mourning love;
He seeks to aid her lot below, and prompt her faith above.
The orphan child, the friendless one, the luckless, or the poor,
Will never meet his spurning frown, nor leave his bolted door;
His kindred circles all mankind, his country all the globe—
An honest name his jewell'd star, and truth his ermine robe.
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