Poems (Jackson)/Revenues
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 placeOn looms of silk and looms of lace;And one shows pictures of old saintsIn lifelike tints of wondrous paints;And one has quarries of white stoneFrom 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. "O little kings!" I long to say,"Who counts God's revenues to-day?Who knows on all the hills and coastsNames of the captains of his hosts?What eye has seen the half of gold.His smallest mine has in its hold?What figures tell one summer's costOf fabrics which are torn and tostTo clothe his myriads of trees?Who reckons, in the sounding seas,The shining corals, wrought and graved,With which his ocean floors are paved?Who knows the numbers or the namesOf colors in his sunset flames?What table measures, marking weight,What chemistries can estimateOne single banquet for his birds?"Then, mocked by all which utmost wordsAnd utmost thoughts can frame or reach,My heart finds tears its only speech.In ecstasy, part joy, part pain,Where fear and wonder half restrainLove's gratitude, I lay my earClose to the ground, and listening hearThis noiseless, ceaseless, boundless tideOf earth's great wealth, on every side,Rolling and pouring up to breakAt feet of God, who will not takeNor keep among his heavenly thingsSo much as tithe of all it brings;But instant turns the costly wave,Gives back to earth all that it gave, Spends all his universe of powerAnd pomp to deck one single hourOf time, and then in largess free,Unasked, bestows the hour on me.