TRUE WEALTH.
The smallest type of manhood that lives,
(If manhood it may be called,)
Is that which knows no power but wealth
That is measured in stocks and gold;
It looks in disdain on a working man
Who declines to bend his knee,
Though in honor's scales he may outweigh
The scorner, in great degree.
There's a wealth that far surpasses all
The houses and stocks and gold,
That ever was on the market placed,
To be by a hireling sold;
'Tis the wealth of manhood, noble, free,
And an independent mind
That scorns to swerve from justice and truth,
But faithfully serves mankind.
PIOUS PIE POEM PUNS.
Dedicated to my Ex-Pier.
One pious afternoon in June
When pyronomics held full sway,
My pilot, fancy, led me on
To seek new fields, piebald and gay.
The pianet rested in shade,
The lark, piano-voiced, sang not,
But pining for some genial maid
To pioneer me to a spot,
Where pine or oak might shield from heat,
My thoughts turned piously to where
Pierian pleasures one might meet,
And pious converse jointly share.