 | The Poetry of Real Life |  |
ON A SOVEREIGN.
Lie there, thou worthless gold! and yet not vile,
Save only unto those who make thee so,
And, thee abusing, their own vileness show;
Thou hast lit many a pale cheek with a smile
Of hope, and cheered the drooping heart meanwhile:
Giv'n strength unto the hammer's fainting blow,
And caused the song oft, at the loom, to flow
From hearts which it had long ceased to beguile!
The father's sweat has earned thee: thou hast fed
His children, while he himself would not taste!
The wife has pay'd thee, with averted head,
And tear, which hallowed thee as it was shed,
Her last, last coin, for him whose cruel waste
Her heart in all, save love, had bankrupted!
Save only unto those who make thee so,
And, thee abusing, their own vileness show;
Thou hast lit many a pale cheek with a smile
Of hope, and cheered the drooping heart meanwhile:
Giv'n strength unto the hammer's fainting blow,
And caused the song oft, at the loom, to flow
From hearts which it had long ceased to beguile!
The father's sweat has earned thee: thou hast fed
His children, while he himself would not taste!
The wife has pay'd thee, with averted head,
And tear, which hallowed thee as it was shed,
Her last, last coin, for him whose cruel waste
Her heart in all, save love, had bankrupted!
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Lie there, thou holy gold, for such thou art;
Bright characters are graved on thee—not those
Stamped by the mint, but letters of the heart!
An higher image too thine impress shows
Than that of kings, which 'mid them burns and glows,
With light that Heaven only could impart;
Thou art no more the vile coin of the mart,
But one which e'en Heav'n's gates might well unclose!
It has conveyed the Godlike, as the rod
Of iron does the lightning from the sky;
The impress on it is the face of God,
Which from it gleams and on thee bends its eye!
Then spend it as if in a temple trod
Thy feet, and He, to watch thine act, stood by!
Bright characters are graved on thee—not those
Stamped by the mint, but letters of the heart!
An higher image too thine impress shows
Than that of kings, which 'mid them burns and glows,
With light that Heaven only could impart;
Thou art no more the vile coin of the mart,
But one which e'en Heav'n's gates might well unclose!
It has conveyed the Godlike, as the rod
Of iron does the lightning from the sky;
The impress on it is the face of God,
Which from it gleams and on thee bends its eye!
Then spend it as if in a temple trod
Thy feet, and He, to watch thine act, stood by!
| The Poetry of Real Life | |