I care not for rank or for gold;
For this kind of fortune bewitches
The soul—at least so I’ve been told.
Contented and happy and healthy,
Pray why should I covet or sigh,
To be titled or famous or wealthy?
Can any man answer me why?
But one thing through life will I covet—
To hate the whole compass of wrong;
To do aye the right and to love it,