University of Virginia Library

THE SILVER AND THE GOLD ARE MINE.

Whose is the gold that glitters in the mine,
And whose the silver? Are they not the Lord's?
And lo! the cattle on a thousand hills,
And the broad earth with all her gushing spring,
Are they not his who made them?
Ye who hold
Slight tenantry therein, and call your lands
By your own names, and lock your gathered gold
From him who in his bleeding Saviour's name
Doth ask a part, whose shall those riches be
When like the grass-blade from the autumn-frost,
You fall away?
Point out to me the forms
That in your treasure-chambers shall enact
Glad mastership, and revel where you toiled,
Sleepless and stern? Strange faces are they all.
Oh man! whose wrinkling labour is for heirs,
Thou knowest not who, thou in thy mouldering bed
Unkenned, unchronicled, of them shalt sleep,
Nor will they thank thee that thou didst bereave
Thy soul of good for them.
Now, thou mayest give
The famished food, the prisoner liberty,
Light to the darkened mind, to the lost soul
A place in Heaven. Take thou the privilege
With solemn gratitude. Speak as thou art
Upon earth's surface, gloriously exult
To be co-worker with the King of kings.