TWO MONUMENTS.
Two men were born the self-same hour: The one was heir to untold wealth, To pride of birth and love of power; The other's heritage was health.
A sturdy frame, an honest heart, Of human sympathy a store, A strength and will to do his part, A nature wholesome to the core.
The two grew up to man's estate, And took their places in the strife: One found a sphere both wide and great, One found the toil and stress of life.
Fate is a partial jade, I trow; She threw the rich man gold and frame, The laurel wreath to deck his brow, High place, the multitude's acclaim.
The common things the other had— The common hopes to thrill him deep, The common joys to make him glad, The common griefs to make him weep.
No high ambitions fired his breast; The peace of God, the love of friend, Of wife and child, these seemed the best, These held and swayed him to the end.
The two grew old, and death's clear call Came to them both the self-same day: To him whose name was known to all, To him who walked his lowly way.
Down to his grave the rich man went, With cortege long, with pomp and pride, O'er him was reared a monument That told his virtues far and wide;
Told of his wealth, his lineage high, His statesmanship, his trophies won, How he had filled the public eye— But empty praise when all was done.