Classic Poem

Dear , noble friend, it seems almost a wrong
That thou shouldst give thy long laborious days
To tasks that win no generous meed of praise,
When at thy bidding myriad shapes would throng
About thee, and the world should know ere long
How rare thy power in many gracious ways
To paint the wonder of our heritage
In language sweeter far than poet's song.
But, if thou dost not murmur, why should we?
At least we know thee for the man thou art;
And if thou carest not to take thy part
Of what the world would give so willingly,
Neither dost thou the least temptation feel
To mar for gain thy loftiest ideal.