 | The Poetry of Real Life |  |
174
TO MY COUNTRYMEN.
My countrymen, from many a venal penWe've read your catalogue of ill, eked out
With feignëd faults, and virtues called in doubt—
But I am proud to call ye countrymen,
Laborious, thoughtful, brave, with sober ken
Fixed ever on life's solid goods: devout,
And reverencing the laws, e'en when without
Full sanction, for the good they cause e'en then,
The love of peace, the greatest good of all,
Without which to the ground the rest must fall,
Like fruit plucked ere it ripens—then my dear,
Dear countrymen, do ye but persevere,
And that same love of peace shall on ye call
Down far more blessings than all in arrear!
| The Poetry of Real Life | |