Poems (Cook)/The Idiot-Born

by Eliza Cook

THE IDIOT-BORN.

"Out, thou silly moon-struck elf;
Back, poor fool, and hide thyself!"
This is what the wise ones say,
Should the Idiot cross their way:
But if we would closely mark,
We should see him not all dark;
We should find we must not scorn
The teaching of the Idiot-born.

He will screen the newt and frog;
He will cheer the famish'd dog;
He will seek to share his bread
With the orphan, parish-fed:
He will offer up his seat
To the stranger's wearied feet:
Selfish tyrants, do not scorn
The teaching of the Idiot-born.

Use him fairly, he will prove
How the simple breast can love;
He will spring with infant glee
To the form he likes to see.
Gentle speech, or kindness done;
Truly binds the witless one.
Heartless traitors, do not scorn
The teaching of the Idiot-born.

He will point with vacant stare
At the robes proud churchmen wear;
But he'll pluck the rose, and tell,
God hath painted it right well.
He will kneel before his food,
Softly saying, "God is good."
Haughty prelates, do not scorn.
The teaching of the Idiot-born.

Art thou great as man can be?—
The same hand moulded him and thee.
Hast thou talent?—Taunt and jeer
Must not fall upon his ear.
Spurn him not; the blemish'd part
Had better be the head than heart.
Thou wilt be the fool to scorn
The teaching of the Idiot-born.

 

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