 | Dryburgh Abbey and other poems |  |
52
THERE ARE TWO WAYS TO LIVE ON EARTH.
There are two ways to live on earth,—
Two ways to judge,—to act,—to view;
For all things here have double birth,—
A right and wrong,—a false and true!
Two ways to judge,—to act,—to view;
For all things here have double birth,—
A right and wrong,—a false and true!
Give me the home where kindness seeks
To make that sweet which seemeth small;
Where every lip in fondness speaks,
And every mind hath care for all.
To make that sweet which seemeth small;
Where every lip in fondness speaks,
And every mind hath care for all.
Whose inmates live in glad exchange
Of pleasures, free from vain expense;
Whose thoughts beyond their means ne'er range,
Nor wise denials give offence!
Of pleasures, free from vain expense;
Whose thoughts beyond their means ne'er range,
Nor wise denials give offence!
Who in a neighbour's fortune find
No wish,—no impulse,—to complain;
Who feel not,—never felt,—the mind
To envy yet another's gain!
No wish,—no impulse,—to complain;
Who feel not,—never felt,—the mind
To envy yet another's gain!
Who dream not of the mocking tide
Ambition's foil'd endeavour meets,—
The bitter pangs of wounded pride,
Nor fallen Power, that shuns the streets.
Ambition's foil'd endeavour meets,—
The bitter pangs of wounded pride,
Nor fallen Power, that shuns the streets.
53
Though Fate deny its glitt'ring store,
Love's wealth is still the wealth to choose;
For all that Gold can purchase more
Are gauds, it is no loss to lose!
Love's wealth is still the wealth to choose;
For all that Gold can purchase more
Are gauds, it is no loss to lose!
Some beings, wheresoe'er they go,
Find nought to please, or to exalt,—
Their constant study but to show
Perpetual modes of finding fault.
Find nought to please, or to exalt,—
Their constant study but to show
Perpetual modes of finding fault.
While others, in the ceaseless round
Of daily wants, and daily care,
Can yet cull flowers from common ground,
And twice enjoy the joy they share!
Of daily wants, and daily care,
Can yet cull flowers from common ground,
And twice enjoy the joy they share!
Oh! happy they who happy make,—
Who, blessing, still themselves are blest!—
Who something spare for others' sake,
And strive, in all things, for the best!
Who, blessing, still themselves are blest!—
Who something spare for others' sake,
And strive, in all things, for the best!
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