Pebbles and Shells (Hawkes collection)/By Field and Lane
BY FIELD AND LANE
Poor is the prince, though Croesus' countless gold,And all the priceless gems of earth's dark mold, Be lavished at his feet, if he ne'er sees The beauty of this world of mysteries.Rich is the swain beside this man of gold,Though poor his purse, his garments torn and old, Whose eyes can see, and heart can understand The wondrous joys of Nature's lavish hand.
For 'tis not wealth, or fame, or power, or birth,That gives man's soul its heritage of worth, It is the mind to grasp, the heart to feel The whole of life, its beauty, and its weal,To draw pure pleasure sweet for age or youthFrom out the founts of God's eternal truth.
To live like yonder robin in her nestAnd know that all that happeneth is best, To learn a lesson from yon hive of bees, That draw their sweetness from the flowers and trees,To read fair Nature's book on mount and dell,And lend thy soul unto her silent spell, To feel the law, the truth, the happy plan That bindeth Nature to the heart of man.