 | Freedom's Offering, |  |
21
Worth—not Rank.
Why do the idle, and the gay,Dressed in fine purple every day,
Possess all title to the soil,
In lieu of those who delve and toil?
Does pomp and pride, and haughteur, give
The bread by which the millions live?
Will titles high, ancestral name,
Add lustre to a nations fame?
Or is it ideas free and bold,
That form a nation's real gold?
The yeoman toiling in the field,
Which year by year its products yield;
The worker with his hammer-hand,
Emblems by which all arts do stand;
The artist with his magic skill,
Which beauty fashions at its will;
Do more to make a nation great,
Than titles brown with musty date.
True worth knows neither rank nor clime,
It leaps around the world sublime.
| Freedom's Offering, | |