REVENUES.
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But I thy song of praise should hear,
Ringing triumphant, loud, and clear,—
The waiting angels could discern,
And token of thy heaven learn?
O glad, freed soul of hickory tree,
Wherever thine eternity,
Bear thou with thee that hour's dear name,
Made pure, like thee, by rites of flame!
Ringing triumphant, loud, and clear,—
The waiting angels could discern,
And token of thy heaven learn?
O glad, freed soul of hickory tree,
Wherever thine eternity,
Bear thou with thee that hour's dear name,
Made pure, like thee, by rites of flame!
REVENUES.
SMILE to hear the little kingsWhen they count up their precious things,
And send their vaunting lists abroad,
Of what their kingdoms can afford.
One boasts his corn, and one his wine,
And one his gold and silver fine;
One by an army, one by a fleet,
Keeps neighbor kings beneath his feet;
One sets his claim to highest place
On looms of silk and looms of lace;
And one shows pictures of old saints
In lifelike tints of wondrous paints;
And one has quarries of white stone
From which rare statue shapes have grown;
And so, by dint of wealth or grace,
Striving to keep the highest place,
They count and show their precious things,
The little race of little kings.
