Of all rewards that Heav’n bestows on toil,
Which is the peer of yours who till the soil!
Would you exchange with them who sue the great
For place or alms? Read, as they pass the gate,
On this face wrath, envy on that, and gall;
And, worst, the death of self-respect on all.
’Tis yours to breathe an atmosphere of peace,
Suitors of earth that knows not of caprice;
That grieves to disappoint a hope, and pours
Into expectant laps a choice of stores,