Wear out their lives in routine none the worse.
They only toil all day,—then eat and sleep,
They have no wife or children dear to keep.
Better, far better, is the tattered lout,
Who, tho' all so-called luxuries without,
Can stand upon the hill-side in the morn,
And watch the shadows flee as day is born.
Tho' with a frugal meal his fast he breaks,
And from the spring his crystal draught he takes,
Better, far better, seems that man to mel