 | Dryburgh Abbey and other poems |  |
15
WHAT IS NOBLE?
What is noble?—to inherit
Wealth, estate, and proud degree?—
There must be some other merit
Higher yet than these for me!—
Something greater far must enter
Into life's majestic span,
Fitted to create and centre
True nobility in man.
Wealth, estate, and proud degree?—
There must be some other merit
Higher yet than these for me!—
Something greater far must enter
Into life's majestic span,
Fitted to create and centre
True nobility in man.
What is noble?—'tis the finer
Portion of our mind and heart,
Link'd to something still diviner
Than mere language can impart:
Ever prompting—ever seeing
Some improvement yet to plan;
To uplift our fellow being,
And, like man, to feel for man!
Portion of our mind and heart,
Link'd to something still diviner
Than mere language can impart:
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Some improvement yet to plan;
To uplift our fellow being,
And, like man, to feel for man!
What is noble?—is the sabre
Nobler than the humble spade?—
There's a dignity in labour,
Truer than e'er Pomp arrayed!
He who seeks the Mind's improvement
Aids the world in aiding Mind!
Every great commanding movement
Serves not one, but all mankind.
Nobler than the humble spade?—
There's a dignity in labour,
Truer than e'er Pomp arrayed!
He who seeks the Mind's improvement
Aids the world in aiding Mind!
Every great commanding movement
Serves not one, but all mankind.
O'er the Forge's heat and ashes,—
O'er the Engine's iron head,—
Where the rapid shuttle flashes,
And the spindle whirls its thread:
There is labour, lowly tending
Each requirement of the hour,—
There is genius, still extending
Science, and its world of power!
O'er the Engine's iron head,—
Where the rapid shuttle flashes,
And the spindle whirls its thread:
There is labour, lowly tending
Each requirement of the hour,—
There is genius, still extending
Science, and its world of power!
'Mid the dust, and speed, and clamour,
Of the loom-shed and the mill;
'Midst the clink of wheel and hammer,
Great results are growing still!
Though too oft, by Fashion's creatures,
Work and workers may be blamed,
Commerce need not hide its features,—
Industry is not ashamed!
Of the loom-shed and the mill;
'Midst the clink of wheel and hammer,
Great results are growing still!
Though too oft, by Fashion's creatures,
Work and workers may be blamed,
Commerce need not hide its features,—
Industry is not ashamed!
17
What is noble?—that which places
Truth in its enfranchised will,
Leaving steps,—like angel-traces,
That mankind may follow still!
E'en though Scorn's malignant glances
Prove him poorest of his clan,
He's the Noble—who advances
Freedom, and the Cause of Man!
Truth in its enfranchised will,
Leaving steps,—like angel-traces,
That mankind may follow still!
E'en though Scorn's malignant glances
Prove him poorest of his clan,
He's the Noble—who advances
Freedom, and the Cause of Man!
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