Page:Songs, Legends, and Ballads.djvu/25

But this man's heart, with rich emotions teeming,
Makes fine the gold for which he coins his brain.

But richer still than gold from upright labor—
The only gold that should have standard price—
Is the poor earning of our humble neighbor,
Whose every coin is red with sacrifice.

Mere store of money is not wealth, but rather
The proof of poverty and need of bread.
Like men themselves is the bright gold they gather
It may be living, or it may be dead.

It may be filled with love and life and vigor,
To guide the wearer, and to cheer the way;
It may be corpse-like in its weight and rigor,
Bending the bearer to his native clay.

There is no comfort but in outward showing
In all the servile homage paid to dross;
Better to heart and soul the silent knowing
Our little store has not been gained by loss.