Classic Poem

I KNOW that fortune's happier star
Has marked for you a brighter lot,
Has wrapped your life from wound and scar,
And bid earth's shadows be forgot,—
While I, outside the charmèd gate,
Have learned to struggle, toil, and wait.

I know that to your baby brow
The golden crown of wealth was given,
The golden wand, whose mandates bow
More hearts than either God or heaven,—
While I, in poor but proud content,
Have coined my fortunes as I went.

I know you boast ancestral earls,
And scutcheoned shield and blazoned pride,
Thus heralding to earth's poor churls
How long ago YOUR heroes died,—
While I, no aid from friend or pelf,
Begin my record with myself.

Yet what of this? You nobly born,
I from the people called to rise,
Is this enough to task your scorn,
Or cause a sneer to blind your eyes?
Then pause a moment ere you go,—
I do not read the difference so.

I know you dead to honest faith,
And useless with your idle hands,
And stunted by the frozen weight
Of pale, dead honors, house and lands,—
While I, for share in God's great will,
Keep heart and hope unsullied still.

I know you lost to honest shames,
And false where noble souls aspire,
And trammeled close by petty aims,
A puppet drawn by Fashion's wire,—
While I, along life's devious way,
Still clamber upward day by day.

You have a Present, dead and calm,
No grime to soil your finger-tips,
A perfumed waste of flowers and balm,
But dead-sea apples to the lips;—
I toil and trust with manhood's fire,
To bring to light my soul's desire.

And then a Future comes. You wait
Or shudder as the thought comes nigh
Of that dread time, when chance or fate
Will call your mightiness—to die.
I, through all pain, within my breast
Still hold the promised boon of rest.

So though I own you nobly born,
Above me, by the world's decree,
I answer back your scorn with scorn,
And smile upon your high degree,—
Content while heart and soul are given
For life on earth and faith in heaven.