The rich man’s son inherits wants: His stomach craves for dainty fare; With sated heart, he hears the pants Of toiling hinds with brown arms bare, And wearies in his easy chair,— A heritage, it seems to me, One scarce would wish to hold in fee.
What doth the poor man’s son inherit? Stout muscles and a sinewy heart, A hardy frame, a hardier spirit; King of two hands, he does his part In every useful toil and art,— A heritage, it seems to me, A king might wish to hold in fee.
What doth the poor man’s son inherit? Wishes o’erjoyed with humble things, A rank adjudged by toil-worn merit, Content that from employment springs, A heart that in his labor sings,— A heritage, it seems to me, A king might wish to hold in fee.
What doth the poor man’s son inherit? A patience learned by being poor; Courage, if sorrow come, to bear it; A fellow-feeling that is sure To make the outcast bless his door,— A heritage, it seems to me, A king might wish to hold in fee.
O rich man’s son! there is a toil, That with all others level stands: Large charity doth never soil, But only whiten, soft white hands; This is the best crop from thy lands,— A heritage, it seems to me, Worth being rich to hold in fee.
O poor man’s son! scorn not thy state: There is worse weariness than thine, In merely being rich and great; Toil only gives the soul to shine, And makes rest fragrant and benign,— A heritage, it seems to me, Worth being poor to hold in fee.
Both, heirs to some six feet of sod, Are equal in the earth at last; Both, children of the same dear God, Prove title to your heirship vast By record to a well-filled past,— A heritage, it seems to me, Well worth a life to hold in fee. James Russell Lowell.
CASABIANCA (Colored).
One darky stood in the ’backer patch, Whence all the rest had fled; While the mule-heels, clods, and green worms flew A-whizzing round his head.