 | Songs of A Wayfarer |  |
CLXXV. BURDENS.
Six things there are which weigh my spirit down—Yea, seven for which my soul doth sorely sigh:
A purse-proud man who, raised from low to high,
His former friends and neighbours doth disown:
A statesman who would use for stepping-stone
His nation's rights and wrongs, to rise thereby
To power: a merchant scribbler who doth cry
All noble sentiments, yet lives in none:
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A triangle, and he the broadest base:
A preacher perfumed, oiled and gloved and curled,
Preaching his own, stone-blind to heaven's grace:
A gifted soul on storms of passion whirled:
A cruel heart veiled by a beauteous face.
| Songs of A Wayfarer | |