THOU CALLEST ME BROTHER
Thou callest me thy human brother; well,
Am I less flesh and spirit than thyself
Or less entitled so to humbly dwell
In honest peace and plenty that to delve
Is equally as noble as to draw
From the rich depths digged up? Or is the law
Of brotherhood pretense?—Our separate lots
But differ as our make, not as our meed.
Do brothers share according to their thoughts
Or in the rough according to their need?
If thou dost think thee finer in the end
Than him thou flatterest, thou art no friend.
Thou callest me thy brother and dost praise
My struggle to get even, holding fast
Thyself the odds of vantage, so the race
Is to the swift and strong—and he is last
Whose toiling body forged the chariot-wheel
That rolls thee on to fortune. It were base
To make the difference one of feast and fast,
Of full and empty measure of our weal;
For I am he who’s spent—the spender thou;
Yet thou dost call me brother! Heaven, how?