TODOUGLAS JERROLD.
My friend, heart-homage, in this simple strain,I yield thee for thy toil to aid the Right!Too long hath genius, with a guilty slight,Passed by the thousands who life's load sustainOf scorn and indigence,—to court the vainAnd foppish crowd,—or laud, in phrases dightWith fulsome flattery, some pampered wightWho counts himself for polished porcelain,—The poor for vulgar clay! A nobler path,—Disdaining hireling censure, hireling praise,—Thou, for thyself, hast chosen. Still, in faithThat thy true toil shall hasten the boon daysOf brotherhood renewed, brother, toil on!—All upright hearts give thee blythe benison!
My friend, heart-homage, in this simple strain,I yield thee for thy toil to aid the Right!Too long hath genius, with a guilty slight,Passed by the thousands who life's load sustainOf scorn and indigence,—to court the vainAnd foppish crowd,—or laud, in phrases dightWith fulsome flattery, some pampered wightWho counts himself for polished porcelain,—The poor for vulgar clay! A nobler path,—Disdaining hireling censure, hireling praise,—Thou, for thyself, hast chosen. Still, in faithThat thy true toil shall hasten the boon daysOf brotherhood renewed, brother, toil on!—All upright hearts give thee blythe benison!
My friend, heart-homage, in this simple strain,I yield thee for thy toil to aid the Right!Too long hath genius, with a guilty slight,Passed by the thousands who life's load sustainOf scorn and indigence,—to court the vainAnd foppish crowd,—or laud, in phrases dightWith fulsome flattery, some pampered wightWho counts himself for polished porcelain,—The poor for vulgar clay! A nobler path,—Disdaining hireling censure, hireling praise,—Thou, for thyself, hast chosen. Still, in faithThat thy true toil shall hasten the boon daysOf brotherhood renewed, brother, toil on!—All upright hearts give thee blythe benison!
My friend, heart-homage, in this simple strain,
I yield thee for thy toil to aid the Right!
Too long hath genius, with a guilty slight,
Passed by the thousands who life's load sustain
Of scorn and indigence,—to court the vain
And foppish crowd,—or laud, in phrases dight
With fulsome flattery, some pampered wight
Who counts himself for polished porcelain,—
The poor for vulgar clay! A nobler path,—
Disdaining hireling censure, hireling praise,—
Thou, for thyself, hast chosen. Still, in faith
That thy true toil shall hasten the boon days
Of brotherhood renewed, brother, toil on!—
All upright hearts give thee blythe benison!