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 VERSES 
 
 By 
 
 ,4 POOR MAN
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
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 / 
 
 C
 
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 Jl/^
 
 VERSES 
 
 BY A POOE MAN. 
 
 DEDICATKD, BY KXPRRsS PKP.MISSION, TO 
 
 W^ ^aoipal ligi)ne£{e! ^vimt albeit. 
 
 SECOND EDITION, 
 
 CORRECTKD, WITH ADDITIONAL PIKCES. 
 
 LONDON : 
 WILLIAM EDWARD PAINTER, 342, STRAND; 
 
 AND SOLD BY F. ANDREWS, DURHAM.
 
 J'ff/ 
 
 TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS 
 
 jFrancis 'aUurt "augustus Cljarlcs CFmanucl, 
 
 UUKK OK SAXE, PRINCE OV COBURG AND GOTHA, 
 
 OONSOm OF HEK MOST GRACIOUS MAJESTY (JI'KEN VICTORIA, 
 
 K.6., G.C.B., P.C, 
 
 HIMSELK A POET AND THE FRIEND OF POOR MEN, 
 
 THESE VERSES 
 
 ARE, BY EXPRESS PERMISSION, DEDICATED, 
 
 ilY BIS MOST DEVOTED SERVANT, 
 
 THE l"JOK Jf.V.X. 
 
 85SSS3
 
 THE POOR MAN 
 
 ASKETH PERMISSIOX OF HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS TRINXE ALBERT 
 TO DEDICATE TO HIM HIS LITTLE BOOK. 
 
 .Sir, from the woody vales and streams, and misty mountains gi'and, 
 
 Where Nature shows her wildest forms in peaceful AVestmorland, 
 
 A poor man dares to write to you, unskilled iu courtly phrase. 
 
 And unacquainted with mankind and their accomplished waj"s. 
 
 Yet do I know your open heart and kindness to poor men. 
 
 Both to the lowly peasant and the pent up citizen; 
 
 1 know that in your private hours, ajiart from public care. 
 
 The poor are not forgotten when you speak to God in prayer. 
 
 We claim you as our truest friend, and all that we can do 
 
 By heart and hand, most faithfully is ever done for you. 
 
 You love to sec our cottages where honest poor men dwell 
 
 Nor can disdain the simple tale that they have got to tell. 
 
 I know your Royal Highness loves our riveis and our hills, 
 
 And feels the beauty of young flowers that peep beside the rills. 
 
 I know you love our mountain glens, and trees whose tresses high 
 
 The wanton winds cast loose in their wild beauty on the sky. 
 
 WHiero swift, at times, across the blue, clouds tinged witli gloiy roll, 
 
 And kindle all the poetry of Nature in your soul. 
 
 Now, Sir, about such things as these my verses have been made, 
 
 And I approach you luimbly to implore your royal aid. 
 
 I ])ray my little volume may obtiiin your approbation, 
 
 And that your Royal Highness will accept the Dedication.
 
 THE POOR MAN 
 
 GIVETH HIS THAXKS TO HIS ROV.VL HIGHNESS PIUNfE ALBERT, 
 KOR HIS GRACIOUS I'ERMISSIOM QRANTKD. 
 
 Sir, I, the Poor Man, send' to you my gratitude and thanks, 
 
 And beg to say tliat 1 had been a walking on the banks 
 
 Of ice-bound streams that ilow beside tlic house where I do dwell. 
 
 Admiring manj- a crystal form of fairy citadel. 
 
 And looking at the pearly shapes around the fountain's edge 
 
 Which hung upon the tiny moss and the golden saxifrage ; 
 
 Wliere through the diamond icicles all plainly might be seen 
 
 Fantastic wreaths of little plants like emeralds so green, 
 
 And where the murmurs of the brooks did whisperingly complain 
 
 That winter stern had bound them with his chilly-sparkling chain : 
 
 While bursting here and there, as from a gem-bespangled cave, 
 
 Tlieir trickling waters love<I the pillars cold and bright to lave. 
 
 I turned me fi om these lustrous things, the wind blew piercing cold : 
 
 The sun was sinking in the west like a red orb of gold. 
 
 And when 1 reached my humble home, I found, with dimming eyes. 
 
 Your Koyal Highness had been pleased my book to patronize ; 
 
 And now 1 pray, as then I did— that God who reigns above 
 
 May pour upon you and your Queen the blessings of his love. 
 
 And may the infant Prince so bright and eke the Princess dear 
 
 Grow up in grace and loveliness, each swift revolving year. 
 
 -May all your lives in happiness reach to the utmost span 
 
 Which is allotted by the Lord unto his creature man : 
 
 And when at last before your view this world shall fade away, 
 
 O ! may you wake, with glory crowned, iu everlasting day. 
 
 -lanuarv. ij, 1842.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 1. The Poor Man humbly speaketh to the 
 Queen's Most Excellent Majesty of the 
 
 Birth of the Prince of Wales 9 
 
 II. Stanzas written by the Poor Man when he 
 heard of the dangerous illness of Ade- 
 laide the Queen Dowager 12 
 
 III. The Poor Man's New- year Address for 1842 14 
 
 IV. The Poor Man speaketh of the Dead and of 
 
 the Banished Ones IG 
 
 V. The Poor Man speaketh to the Reader \'J 
 
 VI of Death 21 
 
 VII of Roads and Lanes... 22 
 
 VIII about going to Church 23 
 
 IX of Wild Flowers 2.5 
 
 X of Streams and Waters 26 
 
 XI of Hills and Mountains 27 
 
 XII about Trees 28 
 
 XIII of Books 30 
 
 XIV of Fire 32 
 
 XV of Cats and Dogs 33 
 
 XVI of Happiness 35 
 
 XVII of something that hap- 
 pened to him 37 
 
 XVIII. The Poor Man telleth a Tale 38 
 
 XIX. The Poor Alan taketh occasion to speak of 
 
 Weathercocks 39 
 
 XX. The Poor Man speaketh of the Stars 40 
 
 XXI ofBirds 41
 
 VI CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 XXII. The Poor Man giveth the Reader a piece of 
 
 his mind about Mashed Potatoes 43 
 
 XXIII. The Poor Man speaks of the Hazel Tree 
 
 in particular 44 
 
 XXIV. The Poor Man talketh about the Sun being 
 
 darkened . 45 
 
 XXV. The Poor Man speaketh of the Bible 4C 
 
 XXVI of a Poor Man's Child 47 
 
 XXVII of a Rich Man's Child. 48 
 
 XXVIII. How the Poor Man dreamed a curious Dream 50 
 
 XXIX. The Poor Man speaketh of a Clock 54 
 
 XXX handleth the Subject of 
 
 Walking Sticks 56 
 
 XXXI singeth of Music 61 
 
 XXXII. The Poor Man's Journey to sec his Brother 
 
 Bill ()3 
 
 XXXIII. Strange History of a Little Boy with Black 
 
 Hair 67 
 
 XXXIV. The Poor Man speaketh of iiis Old Hat.... 69 
 XXXV. The Poor Man's Advice 72 
 
 XXXVI. The Poor Man speakctli of a Young Lady.. 73 
 XXXVII. The Poor Man speaketh of the Death of a 
 
 Minstrel 77 
 
 XXXVIII. The Poor Man telleth a Bible History 7.9 
 
 XXIX. The Poor Man speaketh of a Cottage Boy.. 81 
 XL. The Poor Man discoursetli of Common Sense 84 
 XL I. The Poor Man talketh of Clouds and Sun- 
 shine '.'I 
 
 XLII. The Poor Man showeth liow there is no 
 
 Peace to the Wicked .'M 
 
 XLIII. Arthur Gray 97 
 
 X LI V. The Poor Man sliowcth how Memory got up 
 
 and v.cnt a walking 102
 
 CONTENTS. Vll 
 
 PAGE. 
 XLV. The Poor Man painteth the Picture of 
 
 Human Life 105 
 
 XLVI. The Throe Rrothers 108 
 
 XLV II. The Poor Man pointeth out the folly of 
 
 A\'riting Books Ill 
 
 XLVIIL The Poor Man talketh of a Candle, and 
 
 maketh comparisons 112 
 
 XLIX. The Poor i\Ian, by a true History, proveth 
 
 that the Times arc changed 113 
 
 L. How the Poor Man Learnt his Lesson ll.'i 
 
 LL The Poor Man speaketh of the Death of the 
 
 Beautiful 116 
 
 LH. The Poor Man speaketh of a Toad 117 
 
 IJII. The Poor Man tclleth how he went to see a 
 Friend of his who was a Great Student, 
 
 and what happened 1 1!) 
 
 LI V. The Goodness of God 121 
 
 LV. Thy Homcis not on I'artli 122 
 
 LVI. The Poor JSIan painteth Lights and Shadows 121 
 
 LVII. The Poor Man Rhymeth Oddly 127 
 
 LVIII. God's Word and Works 128 
 
 LIX. The Poor JMan Chirps about Insects 131 
 
 LX. The Poor Man speaketh to Young People... 140 
 LXI. The Poor Man speaketh to all other Poor 
 
 Men about the Distress cf the Times .. 141 
 LXII. The Poor Man's Farewell to the Reader ... 143
 
 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 
 
 I. 
 
 THE POOR MAN HUMBLY SPEAKETH TO THE 
 QUEEN'S MOST EXCELLENT MAJESTY OF 
 THE BIRTH OF THE PRINCE OF WALES. 
 
 Madam, a poor man ventures to bring 
 ('Tis all he has for an offering) 
 To the British throne this simple lay, 
 Sung 'mid the toil of an autumn day. 
 
 When I heard the news that a Prince was born, 
 I climbed a mountainous place forlorn ; 
 I cared not that any should go with me. 
 For my heart was beating perceptibly. 
 
 The welcome sound of rejoicing bells 
 Came faint on my ear with dying swells ; 
 And I knew why that music was pouring wide 
 In merry notes on the mountain side. 
 
 When the highest top I had gained, I threw 
 My gaze afar in the distance blue. 
 To the fancied part of our lovely isle 
 Where subjects live in their Sovereign's smile.
 
 10 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 
 
 I breathed a prayer on the mountain gales — 
 " God bless the new-born Prince of Wales ! 
 May he peer on the earth like a rising star, 
 Whose lustre shall gladden the lands afar. 
 
 " May his name be rung about cottage fires 
 By all poor men in the land of his sires ; 
 Let his life be lit with unnumbered smiles 
 Of them that inhabit the Queen of the Isles. 
 
 " May the Lord with holiness fence his glory 
 In unstained pages of future story ; 
 And may the shafts of heavenly light 
 Beam on his path in all virtue bright. 
 
 " And thou, Victoria ! peerless Queen — 
 Thy lieart beats high with joy, I ween ; 
 For (iod has sent thee a brighter gem 
 Thau the fairest one in thy rich diadem ; 
 
 " A meet companion for that sweet flower 
 Whose beauty blooms in the Royal bowei', 
 On whom may the delicate graces fling 
 Their gifts of purest imagining, 
 
 " And happiness breathe its choicest spell, 
 Like moonlight shed on the young hoathcrbell 
 The poor man's prayer is — may she be 
 jn everything, my Queen, like thee."
 
 VERSES BY A POOR MAX. II 
 
 And well I know, no lady other 
 
 Gazed on the Prince like his Royal Mother : 
 
 ! how was her heart overcome with joy, 
 When first she looked on her infant boy ! 
 
 It would seem as if the Lord of Heaven 
 
 This precious gift had kindly given 
 
 To lighten the dreary November hours, 
 
 When the leaves are stript from the forest bowers ; 
 
 When the winds blow loud o'er the graves of the 
 And all lovely things are banished ; [dead, 
 
 When the gray mist and heavy cloud 
 Hang on the hills like a drooping shroud. 
 
 Methinks that, amidst the sombre gloom, 
 
 1 see the soft waving of a plume ; 
 'Tis gilt with gloiy to my ken — 
 The pride of all true and loyal men. 
 
 Farewell, Victoria! England's joy — 
 We bless thee and thy new-born boy : 
 While other names our bosoms stir — 
 Prince Albert ! and Queen Dowager ! 
 
 Both rich men and poor men join with mc 
 To bless the Royal Family. 
 Long be the reign of England's lovely Queen, 
 And be she always what she erst hath been I 
 B 2
 
 12 VERSES BY A POOR MAX. 
 
 Madam, with deepest veneration 
 
 For you, the Queen of the British nation, 
 
 I am tlie faithful subject true, 
 
 And tlie most dutiful servant too 
 
 (And I trust the same I shall ever be), 
 
 Of your Most Excellent Majesty. 
 
 II. 
 
 STANZAS WRITTEN BY THE POOR MAN WHEN 
 HE HEARD OF THE DANGEROUS ILLNESS 
 OF ADELAIDE THE QUEEN DOWAGER. 
 
 JMcthouylit that at eve on the light breeze there came 
 The wliispcring sound of a dcarly-lovcd name; 
 'Twas mournfully breathed and my heart was afraid, 
 When faint on ray ear fell the word " Adelaide." 
 
 I fancied I heard a sad dirge on the wind, 
 How her pale wasted form on a sick couch reclined : 
 And Britons all weep that disease should invade 
 Thine own quiet chamber, beloved Adelaide. 
 
 Thou art kind to poor peoj)le, whose only return 
 Is the feelings of love in their true hearts that burn : 
 Yet a glorious return will in heaven be made 
 For the kindness on earth of the i^'ood Adchiitlc.
 
 VERSES DY A POOR MAX. 10 
 
 She would seem like a spirit come down licre below, 
 As in beauty she bent o'er the lorn couch of wo : 
 When thy deeds shall at last in the balance be 
 
 weighed, 
 These kind acts will not be forgot, Adelaide. 
 
 When their lone path of life was o'erclouded witk 
 
 sorrow, 
 The sunshine of happiness beamed on the morrow; 
 The tears of the widow and fatherless maid 
 Like dew-drops grew bright in thy smile, Adelaide. 
 
 The spires that rise yonder on high to the heaven, 
 Where by thousands deep-felt adoration is given, — 
 Those spires to the regions above have conveyed 
 The deeds of thy generous soul, Adelaide. 
 
 Her eyes were undazzled by pageant glare. 
 And the humbler she felt when her praise rent the air; 
 When the heart-glowing homage of millions was paid, 
 Thou gavest the glory to God, Adelaide. 
 
 And never was God's precious time cast away, 
 And seldom she mourned o'er a lost yesterday ; 
 But she wended her way through the sunshine and 
 
 shade 
 Of the life-course allotted to fair Adelaide. 
 
 Now Nature is dressed in her sombre attire. 
 And sad arc the sounds that are sweeping her lyre ;
 
 14 VERSES BY A POOE MAN. 
 
 Through the bare trees that grow by the side of the 
 
 glade 
 The breezes are moaning for thee, Adelaide. 
 
 death ! it is grievous to think that thou darest 
 Thy victims select from the best and the fairest ; 
 Thy summons — ah ! me — must it now be obeyed ? 
 Wilt thou tear from our bosom the loved Adelaide ? 
 
 Smooth, smooth her sick pillow, for often has she 
 Sent comfort and hope to cheer dark misery : 
 And pray ye for her, who so often has prayed 
 To her God for us all — the devout Adelaide. 
 
 ! spare her, blessed Father ! awhile to abide, 
 For the sake of thy Son Avho on Calvary died : 
 Blot out the sad hour that lamentingly bade 
 Our fond hopes be crushed for the loved Adelaide ! 
 
 III. 
 
 THE POOR MAN'S NEW- YEAR ADDRESS 
 FOR 1842. 
 
 Another rolling year has fled, 
 
 Another token giving, 
 That we are nearer to the dead. 
 
 And farther from tlie living.
 
 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 15 
 
 Think, reader, think how many friends 
 
 Of thine are gone away. 
 O'er whom the mournful cypress bends 
 
 In all their sad array. 
 
 And thou, within a few short years, 
 
 Must lie beneath the sod ; 
 And, leaving all tliat life endears, 
 
 Must go to meet thy God. 
 
 For as a handbreadth He hath made 
 
 The fleeting days of man : 
 The longest life may well be said 
 
 To be a single span. 
 
 How sweet and sad the strains of life, 
 
 Which the holy psalmist sung ! 
 And oft to mourn our winged years 
 
 His ancient harp was strung. 
 
 Header, before the present year, 
 Which God has put before thee, 
 
 Shall leave its lights and shadows here, 
 The long grass may wave o'er thee. 
 
 And if, perchance, thy earthly lot 
 
 In bitterness be given : 
 O ! drain the cup — but murmur not — 
 
 Afflictions are from heaven !
 
 16 VERSES BY A POOR MAX. 
 
 In this dark valley here below, 
 Where many are repining, 
 
 Ah ! see they not the radiant bow, 
 And the star of Bethlehem shining ! 
 
 Reader, while time remains for thee, 
 To save thy soul endeavour : 
 
 This life is short — thy next will be 
 For ever and for ever. 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE POOR MAN SPEAKETH OF THE DEAD 
 AND OF THE BANISHED ONES. 
 
 " Weep ye not for the dead, neither bemoan him ; but weep sore 
 for bim that gocth away : for ho shall return no more, nor see his 
 native country."— Jeremiah xxii. 10. 
 
 Grim tyrant of the lonely grave ! 
 
 King of the creeping worm ! 
 How dismal are thy harbingers. 
 
 How ghastly is thy form. 
 
 No wonder, then, that men are found. 
 
 Who wish to court thy smile, 
 To die upon a sununer day 
 
 In som(; sweet suiinv isle.
 
 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 
 
 17 
 
 In peace they wish to pass away 
 
 To their own mother earth, 
 Far from the sounds of reveh-y, 
 
 Far from the sons of mirth. 
 
 And they would breathe their latest breath 
 
 In their cm u native land, 
 Within their own beloved retreat, 
 
 Or near their ocean strand. 
 
 The lowly cottage in the glen, 
 
 The hut beside the stream — 
 To their own dwellers, each and all, 
 
 How beautiful they seem ! 
 
 But only half their charms are known 
 
 When life is fresh and gay : 
 The tics of home are dearest still 
 
 When to be torn away. 
 
 The peasant lays his aching head 
 
 Where early he was tauglit 
 To love his own delightful skies, 
 
 Where nature's fire he caught. 
 
 Though all must now be left he knows, 
 
 He dies where all is dear : 
 The same abode his laugh has lit 
 
 Shall share his parting tear.
 
 18 VEKSES BY A POOR MAN. 
 
 He breathes no anxious lone adieu, 
 
 Like those in foreign lands : 
 His wife is leaning on his breast, 
 
 His children clasp his hands. 
 
 And then the calm and gladsome thought, 
 
 In death that he shall rest 
 Near all his own green trees and flowers, 
 
 And friends whom he loves best. 
 
 I had a friend who went abroad 
 
 Alone, and where is he ? 
 His grave it is in common earth. 
 
 Beneath the cedar tree. 
 
 I saw his brother die, and he 
 In our own churchyard slept ; 
 
 We scattered flowers upon his grave, 
 And for the distant wept. 
 
 How grateful ought we all to be 
 
 For our kind Father's care ; 
 Though earthly friends are far away, 
 
 Yet God is everywhere.
 
 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 19 
 
 V. 
 
 THE POOR MAN SPEAKETH TO THE READER. 
 
 Readei', the poor man speaks to thee, 
 
 One who has little time, 
 And hopes though wilt not be severe 
 
 Upon his humble rhyme : 
 
 For it has pleased the Lord 
 
 That I do get my bread 
 By daily labour with my hands, 
 
 And not by work of head. 
 
 Yet I do not complain, 
 
 As no man ever should, 
 That toil is added to my lot. 
 
 And evil mixed with good. 
 
 Though pains and cares have come 
 
 Ui)on me thick as hail. 
 And made my heart grow sick, 
 
 And made my cheek grow pale ; 
 
 'Twas only for a time 
 
 That they bent me to the ground, 
 For I sought the Lord of Hosts 
 
 While I felt he could be found.
 
 20 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 
 
 Each little comfort sent 
 
 By those -^vho could aiFord, 
 Did ahvays raise my thanks to them, 
 
 And -worship to the Lord. 
 
 And as I in the country live, 
 
 And all its glories see, 
 I bless the hand of Providence 
 
 That gave sucli sights to me. 
 
 For not in holy books alone 
 May the things of God be read. 
 
 But in the trees, and brooks, and flowers. 
 On earth's green table spread. 
 
 And when I have a little time 
 
 I look on things like these, 
 And love, in the declining year, 
 
 The tinted leaves of trees. 
 
 And I love to hear the sound 
 Of summer birds and streams, 
 
 And love the tlowers that paint the ground. 
 All like some fairy dreams. 
 
 'Tis thus at times I write 
 
 The thoughts that fill my mind. 
 
 For the heart of man is full 
 When lie feels his God is kind.
 
 VERSES BY A POOH MAX. 21 
 
 I am no scholar skilled 
 
 In Hebrew or in Greek, 
 But ill my homely way, 
 
 Reader, to thee I speak. 
 
 VI. 
 THE POOR MAN SPEAKETH OF DEATH. 
 
 'Twas on a gloomy Saturday niglit, 
 And the day had been very stormy, 
 
 Returning home from the market town, 
 I saw something before me. 
 
 Nothing, however, Avas moving about,. 
 
 But something was lying still. 
 Just at one side of the public road, 
 
 At the foot of Windy Hill. 
 
 Several people were near at hand ; ' 
 
 We found a man dead and cold. 
 
 His visage was rather unhappy, I thought, 
 And dismal to behold. 
 
 Reader ! this is the tyrant, death : 
 
 Art thou prepared to die ? 
 In a little time, it may be, from hence, 
 
 Thou in the grave must lie I
 
 22 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 
 
 Think of this at the hour of night, 
 Think of this in the morning : 
 
 Think of the poor man's little book, 
 And take a solemn warning. 
 
 Think of the shroud and coffin dark, 
 And what God has done for thee : 
 
 And when thy dying hour has come, 
 May thy breath go peacefully. 
 
 VII. 
 
 THE POOR MAN DISCOURSETH ABOUT ROADS 
 AND LANES. 
 
 I do not like the dusty road, 
 
 With walls on either side ; 
 But give me quiet shady lanes. 
 
 With their moths at even-tide. 
 
 These little things flit up and down, 
 
 And all along the lane ; 
 And when they reach the brighter endj 
 
 They oft flit back again. 
 
 While on the mossy banks that close 
 
 The lane on left and right. 
 Mice run about and peep, at times, 
 
 Amidst the dim twilight.
 
 VERSES BY A POOR MAX. 2S 
 
 And what is yonder darkling thing ? 
 
 I hear a clanking chain : 
 It is some poor man's old lean horse. 
 
 That eats the grass in the lane. 
 
 What is that glimmering gush of light. 
 
 Faint streaming all around, 
 Gilding the upper sides of ferns, 
 
 And chequering the ground ? 
 
 O ! you have staid unconscious till 
 The moon has climbed the sky ; 
 
 And you may hear the wild wood owl, 
 And the distant plover cry. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 THE POOR MAN SPEAKETH ABOUT GOING 
 TO CHURCH. 
 
 O ! 'tis a pleasant thing to see 
 
 Young people go to church, 
 Nor leave the village clergyman 
 
 And sermon in the lurch. 
 
 And I love to see old persons go 
 Hobbling on a stick,
 
 24 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 
 
 Although their garb of poverty 
 Would make a kind heart sick. 
 
 O ! yes — ^"tis well when all confess 
 They like the Sabbath-day ; 
 
 And they will feel the truth of this, 
 When called from earth away. 
 
 The prayers in our good Prayer-books, 
 
 How beautiful they be I 
 And pleasant is the sound of them 
 
 When read religiously. 
 
 O ! never, nevei', miss the church, 
 
 If you are well to go : 
 For you are laying treasure up 
 
 In heaven by doing so. 
 
 And when you have come home again, 
 
 Then pray to Him above, 
 That he will teacli you how to live 
 
 In his holy fear and love. 
 
 Blessed are the poor that go to church. 
 
 And do as thev are told ; 
 'Tis gladness to the youthful heart. 
 
 And peace unto the old. 
 
 * * *V*l^ *>^^v#^*^ *
 
 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 25 
 
 IX. 
 
 THE POOR MAN SPEAKETH OF WILD 
 FLOWERS. 
 
 The poor man speaks, in the Avarmth of his heart, 
 Of the pleasures of sweet wild flowers ; 
 
 They cost us nothing for all their delight, 
 And bloom in the calm summer hours. 
 
 How the poor man is pleased to look round him 
 
 and see 
 Roses, and daisies, and the sweet wild-pea ! 
 The fox-glove, too, in its own tall pride, 
 Hangs its purple bells by every hedge-side. 
 
 But O ! for the primrose in early spring, 
 
 O ! is it not truly a beautiful tiling ? 
 
 And when you go out of a balmy morn. 
 
 You meet the rich breath of the sweet liaMthorn. 
 
 And in evening time, by the shadowy dell, 
 The perfume is there of the modest blue-ljcll ; 
 O ! thanks be to God for his beautiful flowers. 
 That bloom for mankind in the calm summer hours.
 
 26 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 
 
 X. 
 
 THE POOR MAN SPEAKETH OF STREAMS 
 AND WATERS. 
 
 'Tis sweet to sit by a little brook, 
 
 As it murmurs gently on ; 
 To think of the stream of human life, 
 
 How quick its waters run. 
 
 I saw a wild rose on the brook, 
 
 It floated down the stream, 
 And methought a hand did rescue it, 
 
 In my poetic dream. 
 
 I have a niece — she was roughly cast 
 On the stream of human sorrow, 
 
 And the little pittance she earned to-day 
 Was to buy her bread for to-morrow. 
 
 But a kind hand came by Providence, 
 
 And she is happy now; 
 Her eye is bright, her heart is light, 
 
 And care has left her brow. 
 
 /4y^^4sr/./vw/^^^^<w^^ ^
 
 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 27 
 
 XI. 
 
 THE POOR MAN SPEAKETH OF HILLS AND 
 MOUNTAINS. 
 
 Upon the top of a lofty hill, 
 
 In summer time, when all is still, 
 
 I often lie. 
 And cast my gladdened eyes around, 
 Sometimes afar, or on the ground. 
 
 Or to the sky. 
 
 Behold the landscape far and wide, 
 With dark thick woods on every side ; 
 
 Where waters, shining 
 Like silvery snakes, glide smooth along, 
 Great crags and sombre shades among, 
 
 When day's declining. 
 
 This mountain oft, in former days, 
 Received my eager boyish praise. 
 
 And youthful gladness : 
 For when my spirits low were brought. 
 The mountain's well-known top I sought, 
 
 To cure my sadness. 
 
 And half-way down my favourite hill, 
 Gushes a litdc purling rill 
 
 In tuneful measure :
 
 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 
 
 Upon whose little mossy brink, 
 I frequent vised to kneel to drink 
 Its crystal treasure. 
 
 Good bye to thee ! long-cherished mount ; 
 Farewell ! thou ever-flowing fount : 
 
 I love you dearly ; 
 I am not near you now : but yet 
 This longing heart can not forget — 
 
 I'm yours sincerely. 
 
 XII. 
 THE POOR MAN SPEAKETH ABOUT TREES. 
 
 How pleasant are tlie waving trees, 
 
 The oak, the ash, the birch ; 
 How beautiful the old yew seems. 
 
 That grows beside the church : 
 
 And those tall linden trees whose boughs 
 
 Bring shadows o'er the dead. 
 Making a gloomy canopy 
 
 Over their cold low bed : 
 
 The firs that crown the lofty hills, 
 Like giants in their pride ;
 
 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 29 
 
 Or like a darkling thunder cloud, 
 At even, on their side ; 
 
 O ! yes — they seem to point our thoughts 
 
 Upwards, and mark the skies ; 
 So high their dark plumes wave in air — 
 
 So high their spears arise. 
 
 The alder tree grows near some stream ; 
 
 And the yellow willow slender, 
 O'er which the large palm throws his arms 
 
 As if he would defend her. 
 
 The silky catkins oft we took. 
 
 Delighted, from the twig, 
 In childish days, and climbed for them 
 
 The trees to us so big. 
 
 We filled our little pockets full— 
 We loved such pretty things ; 
 
 ! childhood ever flies away 
 Fast on its golden wings. 
 
 And then the fruitful elder tree, 
 
 Of whose small juicy berry 
 The country people make sweet wine, 
 
 To drink and to be merry. 
 
 1 love the shady sycamore. 
 
 With its leaves so large and round,
 
 30 VERSES BY A TOOE MAN. 
 
 That lie, iu dull November hours, 
 Thick-spotted, on the ground. 
 
 And then the trees in some large wood 
 Far from the noise of towns, 
 
 Wearing, in autumn time, their leaves. 
 Like variegated crowns. 
 
 The hazel in the hedge and copse, 
 
 The holly in the glen — 
 They beautify this home below, 
 
 Given from God to men. 
 
 O ! grant me places where the trees 
 Are scattered thickly round ; 
 
 Where woods are mixed with waterfalls, 
 And rocks rise from the ground. 
 
 Trees are the things that children love, 
 
 And men delight to see ; 
 And they bring a thousand memories 
 
 Of by-gone days to me. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 THE POOR MAN SPEAKETH OF BOOKS. 
 
 I have seen many people do nothing but read, 
 And books were the food on which they would feed ; 
 And I truly believe if few Morc to be had, 
 The persons I mean would go raving mad.
 
 V-ERSES BY A POOR MAN. 31 
 
 Books are well in their way, but I verily think 
 They ought to be used as meat and drink : 
 That is, we should read, and then let the mind rest, 
 For food should have certainly time to digest. 
 
 I maintain that the intellect oft requires weeding, 
 And more comes by thinking than men get by 
 
 reading ; 
 The two great books that we ought to read, 
 Are the Bible and Nature, and this is my creed. 
 
 And all other books that do not agree 
 With these two volumes are not for me ; 
 And what books soever you Avish to buy. 
 These two must first be known skilfully. 
 
 And amongst such works as shall be thine, 
 I humbly offer this book of mine : 
 The poor man hopes you are not offended, 
 If he asks your Honour to recommend it. 
 
 I have not many books myself, 
 And they all stand on a little shelf ; 
 Yet the few that I have are full of kernels, 
 And I am acquainted with their internals. 
 
 All books on earth must pass away 
 At the dreadful time of the judgment day ; 
 But the human soul, and the thinking mind — 
 These, O ! these, will remain behind !
 
 32 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 
 
 XIV. 
 THE POOR MAN SPEAKETH OF FIRE. 
 
 The cheerful fire upon the hearth, 
 Blazing with heat and light, 
 
 As you see it in poor cottages 
 On a stormy -winter night : 
 
 It speaks to all the family. 
 And seems on them to smile. 
 
 As they gather round it pleasantly. 
 And talk and laugh the while. 
 
 It is a thing of much delight 
 To see them in their places, 
 
 Spending the evening piously, 
 With comfortable faces. 
 
 And I have heard religious talk, 
 And the Holy Scriptures read, 
 
 By many poor (who live in huts), 
 Before they went to 1)ih1. 
 
 Yea ! many houses, small and cold, 
 Where you feel the damp night-air, 
 
 Resound with evening hymns to God, 
 And with the voice of prayer. 
 
 And, O ! yc poor, who, like myself, 
 Work for your daily bread —
 
 VERSES BY A POOR MAX. 33 
 
 Remember that the Son of Man 
 Had not \vhere to hiy his head. 
 
 Though riches do not come to us, 
 
 Though Ave do all for hire ; 
 Yet we will speak of God at eve, 
 
 By the cheerful blazing fire. 
 
 For every hour in a poor man's heart, 
 
 To God devoutly given, 
 Will lay up riches constantly 
 
 Above for him in heaven. 
 
 XV. 
 THE POOR MAN SPEAKETH OP CATS AND DOGS. 
 
 The poor man speakcth next 
 
 Of cats and faithful dogs ; 
 Although he does not make them talk 
 
 In rational dialogues. 
 
 The dog is found the poor man's friend. 
 
 And helps his master too ; 
 And I have often seen small dogs 
 
 With ditferent things to do.
 
 S4 VERSES BY A POOR MAJf. 
 
 While dogs of greater size and strength 
 
 Preserve the lives of men ; 
 For when persons fall into the sea, 
 
 They pull them out again. 
 
 And many a dog, grown up in years. 
 
 From being a little puppy, 
 By his faith and love has left a life 
 
 Men would do well to copy. 
 
 The only fear about a dog, 
 Is when his faith is changed : 
 
 He bites his master, foameth much. 
 And runneth in roads deranged. 
 
 Whereas, if managed properly, 
 He no one would have bit : 
 
 He might have watched a flock of sheep, 
 Or even turned a spit. 
 
 I have seen dogs of mighty parts, 
 
 In conjurors' possession. 
 Which tell you what o'clock it is, 
 
 Several times in succession. 
 
 Cats, too, are pleasant animals. 
 Clean, and purring by the fire ; 
 
 But frequently the sudden cause 
 Why mice and rats expire.
 
 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 35 
 
 And what is there more frolicsome 
 
 Than a playful little kitten ? 
 For I myself did sport with them, 
 
 Long before this book was written. 
 
 Though coming down in showers like rain, 
 
 Dogs and cats I never saw ; 
 I wish them lots of bones and mice, 
 
 And plenty of clean straw. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 THE POOR MAN SPEAKETH OF HAPPINESS. 
 
 Who is the happiest man on earth ? 
 
 Is an easy thing to ask : 
 To answer it, in truth, I think, . 
 
 Is by far a harder task. 
 
 Is young or old, or rich or poor, 
 
 The person we seek after : 
 Is he whose heart is grave, or he 
 
 Whose face is smiles and laughter ? 
 
 Is that man happiest, whose lot 
 
 Has placed him far away 
 From any kind of toil ; so that 
 
 He works not night or day ?
 
 30 VERSES BY A POOR 3IAN. 
 
 Or he whose bread and livelihood 
 Must come from sweat of brow. 
 
 Whose body each returning day- 
 Over his work must bow ? 
 
 O ! it does not depend upon 
 The rank that you may hold ; 
 
 Your being very rich or poor, 
 Your being young or old. 
 
 True happiness is built on this — 
 That you do nothing wrong ; 
 
 And happiness in other ways 
 Can never last you long. 
 
 Be true to God and to yourself, 
 And kind to all around you, 
 
 And you may then be conhdcnt 
 That happiness has found you. 
 
 At least as far as such a thing 
 Can in this world be given : 
 
 For pure unspotted happiness 
 Is found alone in heaven !
 
 VERSES BY A POOR MAX. 37 
 
 XVII. 
 
 THE POOR MAN SPEAKETH OF SOMETHING 
 THAT HAPPENED TO HIM. 
 
 'Twas all in the snow on a cold winter night, 
 
 I was coming along without a light, 
 
 Except what was sent from the ground so white ; 
 
 The wind blew most bitterly, right in my face, 
 And I tried to push on for a little space, 
 Till at last I fell down in a desolate place: 
 
 And I thought that I certainly there must lie, 
 Till it pleased the Almighty my body should die, 
 And my sins in my face did instantly fly. 
 
 ! reader, of this sudden thing I'd no warning, 
 
 1 thought I should be cold and stiff befoi-e morning, 
 And lamented the day that I ever was born in. 
 
 Yet at last I was found in my terrible avo, 
 
 By a perpendicular hole in the snow,* [below. 
 
 Which tlie hot breath had made coming up from 
 
 I am sjoared, and am thankful, with heart most 
 
 warm. 
 And since that time to this rule I conform : — 
 That I put up a prayer before facing a storm. 
 
 * Men anil sheep have often been discovered in snow-drifts, by a 
 little hole melted by the hot breath of tlie enclosed body, undcasLly 
 found by country people and dogs accustomed to the search.
 
 38 VESSES BY A POOR MAN. 
 
 XVIII. 
 THE POOR MAN TELLETH A TALE. 
 
 A tale is told by the peasants old 
 
 In the North of England free, 
 Where streamlets glide down the mountain side, 
 
 And birds sing merrily. 
 
 They tell how once in the village dance, 
 
 In the festive times of yore, 
 There came a sprite in a robe of white, 
 
 And a rose in her breast she wore. 
 
 Yet she mingled not, on that lovely spot, 
 With the light hearts tripping there ; 
 
 But sat silent by, while each wondering eye 
 Gazed on the stranger fair. 
 
 The zephyr breeze, through the leafy trees. 
 
 Her tresses just did move, 
 And the young moon threw, 'mid a sky of blue, 
 
 Its gleam on her from above. 
 
 O ! yes — she seemed, as each faint ray beamed 
 
 On her face and lily hand, 
 To have come from afar, from some dewy stai'; 
 
 Or else from a fairy land.
 
 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 39 
 
 They lingered till the cock-crow shrill 
 
 Declared the morn was near, 
 And all, save one, had homeward gone, 
 
 And the heavens were bright and clear. 
 
 The one that staid with the stranger maid. 
 
 He saw her rise and go ; 
 She sought a lone fountain in his native mountain, 
 
 And mixed with its murmuring flow. 
 
 And to this day, the peasants say, 
 
 When the heavens are bright and clear, 
 
 At the fountain's head, like some hymn for the 
 dead. 
 Wild notes are floating near. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 THE POOR MAN TAKETH OCCASION TO 
 SPEAK OF WEATHERCOCKS. 
 
 Do you see yonder weathercock moving about ? 
 So the mind of a person in darkness and doubt 
 Is led by the wind that may happen to blow 
 la this world of fickleness here belo^\•.
 
 40 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 
 
 But you must resemble the compass so true, 
 And point to the Saviour that died for you ; 
 Thus the mind that thinks well on the commonest 
 
 things, 
 Some portion of good to its owner brings : 
 
 As the finest sweets extracted you see. 
 From the commonest flowers, by the wise honey- 
 bee ; 
 For there's notliing on earth, if considered aright. 
 But it plainly speaks of the great Infinite. 
 
 XX. 
 
 THE POOR MAN SPEAKETH OF THE STARS. 
 
 The stars that shine in the deep blue sky, 
 And spangle the crown of the great Deity — 
 How I love to gaze on their glittering liglit, 
 In the still sad hours of the voiceless night : 
 Or are they worlds to whose distant fires 
 The soul departs, when a life oxpin^s ? 
 Or are they beauties to mortals given, 
 By the kind unsparing hand of heaven ? 
 Whatever ye be, ye gems of the sky, 
 You tell me of Him who dwells on high I
 
 VERSES BY A POOR. MAX. 41 
 
 XXI. 
 
 THE POOR MAN SPEAKETil OF BIRDS. 
 
 I love to look on little birds, 
 
 Sitting in leafy trees, 
 And such as on the water swim. 
 
 That shows their images. 
 
 The little robin redbreast, 
 
 That turneth up his eye. 
 Standing upon his taper legs, 
 
 With a feeble sucking cry : 
 
 He Cometh tothe window pane. 
 
 He asketh us for bread : 
 My heart is sore, when in a storm 
 
 I find him lying dead. 
 
 The little wren, whose secret nest 
 
 Is warmly put together. 
 Is often known to pour it notes 
 
 In snowy winter weather. 
 
 The blackbird and the speck ed thrush 
 Sing songs most sweet to hear 
 
 And we listen to their melody 
 In the spring time of the year, 
 
 D
 
 42 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 
 
 The cuckoo hath a curious voice, 
 Made so by sucking eggs; 
 
 Just as small boys do make their throats 
 All rough with eating skegs. 
 
 The starling and the fly-catcher 
 The bullfinch and the dove, 
 
 The titmouse and the nightingale, 
 Are birds that I do love. 
 
 The pee-wit screaming overhead. 
 The golden-crested wren ; 
 
 The night-jar, like a spinning-wheel 
 Humming, and frightening men. 
 
 The corn-crake seldom to be seen, 
 
 And difficult to know 
 In what part of the grassy field 
 
 It runneth to and fro. 
 
 A duck also, the enemy 
 Of little frogs and snails : 
 
 And rooks, and magpies mocking mwi, 
 And partridges and quails. 
 
 But of all the noble feathered fowls 
 A goose must be preferred : 
 
 There is so much of nourishment 
 In that weak-minded bird.
 
 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 43 
 
 A turkey and a pheasant, too, 
 
 I am told are very fine ; 
 But poor men seldom hit upon 
 
 Such stuff whereon to dine. 
 
 Farewell, ye feathered choristers, 
 
 And birds of larger size, 
 From the little golden-crested wren 
 
 To the eagle of the skies. 
 
 Ye swallows, too, that skim the air. 
 
 In summer time so free, 
 Coming to happy England from 
 
 The lands beyond the sea. 
 
 Good bye to one and all, until 
 
 I speak of you again ; 
 Ye are beloved by all the poor, 
 
 And humble country men. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 THE POOB aiAN GiyETII THE READER A PIECE OF HIS 
 MIND ABOUT MASHED POTATOES. 
 
 Potatoes mashed are an excellent thing, 
 And fit for the table of even a king. 
 When the poor man returns from his daily work, 
 He heard not the sound of the rich man's cork ;
 
 44 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 
 
 He smells not the smell of the rich man's venison. 
 But mashed potatoes, and asks a benison. 
 Potatoes and salt, and peace and rest, 
 Are the poor man's lot — and he is blest. 
 But if this book should haj^pen to sell, 
 I will then have a piece of bacon as Avell. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 THE POOR MAN SPEAKS OF THE HAZEL 
 TREE IN PARTICULAR. 
 
 Remember you the nuts that grew 
 
 Upon the hazel bough — 
 How the clusters hung^vhen you were young? 
 
 Do you think upon them now ? 
 
 The hazel tree ! the hazel tree ! 
 
 That skirts the flowery glade, 
 Of thy supple wood in glad childhood 
 
 Our little spears were made» 
 
 The hazel tree oft ijavc to me 
 
 Nuts for a scanty meal ; 
 What I felt then, does oft again 
 
 O'er heart and memory steal.
 
 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 45 
 
 Yes ! little child of lieauty wild ! 
 
 I know you think with me : 
 And when age and care have thinned your hair, 
 
 You will love the hazel tree. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 THE POOR MAN TALKETH ABOUT THE SU'N 
 BEING DARKENED. 
 
 A long time ago, while gathering chips, 
 
 I saw what philosophers call an eclipse ; 
 
 And some of them said how the matter was done, 
 
 By the moon stepping in 'twixt the earth and the 
 
 sun : 
 And clearly explained how the principal cause 
 Agreed with some new mathematical laws : 
 While others made accurate calculations, 
 The eclipse would be seen by such and such nations, 
 And how many of them could take place each year. 
 Nowthe poor man (ithappened) was standingnear: 
 " May it please you (said I) to tell me when 
 The sun will be darkened, nor brighten again ?" 
 Not all the deep learning of man can tell 
 The hidden things of heaven and hell ! 
 You may think of the science of each eclipse, 
 While I, the poor man, am gathering chips ;
 
 43 
 
 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 
 
 But the darkened sun is a lesson to me 
 To prepare for the life of eternity ; 
 And as for the time when that shall be, 
 God has not made you much wiser than me ; 
 But I draw a deep thought from the dark eclipse, 
 With a beating breast and a prayer on my lips. 
 
 XXV. 
 THE POOR MAN SPEAKETH OF THE BIBLE. 
 
 The Bible ! what a precious sound 
 
 In that one single word, . 
 At church, at home, and everywhere, 
 
 By the poor man's ear is heard. 
 
 The Bible ! you may find it now 
 
 In cottage windows lying; 
 It teaches healthy living men. 
 
 And comforts all the dying. 
 
 The Bible ! I have often known, 
 
 In poor men's houses small, 
 They scarce had any other book, 
 
 But it was all in all. 
 
 The Bible I 'tis the library 
 Of juany ragged men ;
 
 VERSES BY A POOE MAN. 47 
 
 And a» each rolling year comes round, 
 Thoy read it through again. 
 
 The Bible ! many poor do know 
 
 About the sacred scroll, 
 Better than learned gentlemen, 
 
 For their immortal soul. 
 
 The Bible ! bless the sound, ye poor, 
 
 Its pleasures never cease : 
 And though you be not rich in wealth, 
 You will be rich in peace. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 THE POOR MAN SPEAKETH OF A POOR 
 MAN'S CHILD. 
 
 Where is my daddy ? said a child, 
 
 With a pretty flaxen head : 
 He is not here to kiss me now. 
 
 When I am going to bed. 
 
 He used to come home every night. 
 
 And get his supper here ! 
 But nothing has been made for him 
 
 Above a week or near.
 
 48 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 
 
 His hat has hung upon the peg, 
 His shoes are standing there : 
 
 ! tell me Avhere my daddy is, 
 O ! mammy tell me where. 
 
 1 Avish that he was back again, 
 
 And then you Avould not ciy, 
 Nor sit amongst the great flat stones, 
 Beside yon house so high. 
 
 O ! tell me where my daddy is, 
 
 The little poor girl said. 
 He is not here to kiss me now, 
 
 "When I am going to bed. 
 
 XXVI I. 
 
 THE POOR MAN SPEAKETH OF A RICH 
 MAN'S CHILD. 
 
 ! father, said the little girl, 
 What makes you look so sad ? 
 
 The birds are singing all around^ 
 And yet you are not glad. 
 
 1 pulled this pretty rose for you, 
 
 An#l this for moth(>r dear : 
 But tell me, father, where she is ; 
 I cannot find her liore.
 
 VERSES BY A POOR MAX. 49 
 
 I sought for her long time ago, 
 
 Where she always used to be : 
 Her pretty flowers and gilded books 
 
 Were all that I could see. 
 
 What makes you weep, my father, now, 
 
 And lift your eyes above, 
 When you look upon the harp she played, 
 
 And flowers she used to love ? 
 
 For when mamma comes here again, 
 
 She will play to me and you ; 
 And in the garden walk with us, 
 
 Just as she used to do. 
 
 My father, said the little girl, 
 
 At eve why do you go 
 Among the graves beside the church ? 
 
 You never did do so. 
 
 And when you look upon my face. 
 
 You turn your head away. 
 And sigh A\hen you have kissed my brow, 
 
 As you often have to-day, 
 
 I pulled this pretty rose so sweet, 
 
 To give to mother dear : 
 O ! tell me, father, where she is — 
 
 I cannot find her here.
 
 J5B VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 HOW THE POOR MAN DREAMED A CURIOTTS DREAM.' 
 
 On a beautiful day, in the month of June, 
 I took a short walk in the afternoon ; 
 I crossed some paths, and went over a fence, 
 Travelling a-foot, without expense. 
 
 I went where a winding river flowed, 
 About half a mile from the turnpike road ; 
 On the banks of which, most sweet to view. 
 Ferns, and flowers, and bilberries grew. 
 
 Great rocks, rough-crested, here and there 
 Lifted their solid heads in the air ; 
 And in one lone spot, near a waterfall, 
 You might perceive many fishes small, 
 
 Swimming about and enjoying existence, 
 Provided vou stood at a little distance ; 
 For these shy tilings are full of fear, 
 And you scare them away if you go too near. 
 
 The dark water-crow, with its bosom so white, 
 Came Hying by in the warm sun-light; 
 And, poised in air, you miglit descry 
 The elegant form of the dragon-fly : 
 
 A moment his rainbow hues were briglit'ning, 
 Then he glanced away with the speed of Jightning.
 
 VERSES BY A TOOR MAN. 51 
 
 I laid me down where the little flowers 
 Were scattered around like fairy bowers. 
 
 A tuft of heath-fern was on my right, 
 That would wreathe a green crown for a water- 
 sprite ; 
 And, moved by the light breeze that whispered by, 
 It seemed to welcome my company. 
 
 I thought of the picture around me spread 
 By the hand of the King of the quick and dead : 
 I thought of my friends and dear relations, 
 Of the time they spend in their occupations ; 
 
 And I wished they could snatch an hour with me, 
 To gaze on the works of the kind Deity. 
 I thought of the mountains aud rocks so steep, 
 And of murmuring waters — and fell asleep. 
 
 I dreamed a dream : and methought the niches 
 Of a splendid palace were stuffed with riches. 
 And I was the prince of all things there. 
 With money to spend and a crown to wear. 
 
 I opened some bags that seemed to contain 
 Enough of fine gold to buy France and Spain : 
 But instead of the wealth I expected to find, 
 Only pain and cares were left behind ;
 
 62 VERSES BY A POOR, MAN. 
 
 And the niches that glittered with precious stones 
 Were filled with coffins and dead men's bones : 
 I turned away from such loathsome things, 
 Nor envied the splendour of earthly kings. 
 
 I wandered along till I met \vith a crowd 
 Of joyous youths, and they shouted aloud; 
 They were digging the earth for a hidden treasure ; 
 I asked what it was, and they told me pleasure. 
 
 And as each portion of earth they threw, 
 They rent the air with a wild halloo ! 
 And they dug the hole both deep and wide, 
 Heaping the red earth on either side. 
 
 So deep they made the hole all round. 
 Their heads were level with the ground : 
 Deeper, and deeper still they follow, 
 Their laugh resounded harsh and hollow. 
 
 At length a withered old man came. 
 
 With a ghastly face and eyes of Hame. 
 
 He carried a most enormous spade. 
 
 And he filled up the hole that the youths had made. 
 
 Such is the end of all sensual slaves, 
 They dig for pleasure and find their graves, 
 I wandered onwards, and found a tower, 
 Lofty and stecj), of groat strength and power;
 
 VERSES BY A POOR MAX. OO 
 
 And the wind a nioundul wailing sent, 
 As it whistled through the dark battlement. 
 The top of the tower was sharp and high, 
 Seeming to pierce the angry sky : 
 
 And methouglit a young man, with his hair on end. 
 Struggled the mighty i)lace to ascend ; 
 When half-way upwards he managed to go, 
 He tumbled down to the moat below. 
 
 Another man, Avitha calmer eye, 
 To gain the summit next did try ; 
 And having nearly reached the top. 
 Did into the ditch unhappily drop. 
 
 The name of the tower, it was Ambition, 
 And the moat below was called Contrition. 
 I turned away, for a dimsal cloud 
 Huns over the tower like a funeral shroud : 
 
 And a peal of awful timndcr broke 
 Above my head : and I soon awoke. 
 But the scene was not as it was before, 
 For heavy clouds were now gathered o'er — 
 
 The distant thunder was faintly rolling, 
 And I heard the village death-bell tolling. 
 I left the spot and homeward went, 
 Though rather gloomy, I felt content ;
 
 54- VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 
 
 And thanked tlie Lord that, though I be poor, 
 And though life be uncertain, the Bible is sure. 
 Remember, reader, the poor man's dream, 
 Which he had by the side of a mountain stream. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 THE POOR MAN SPEAKETH OF A CLOCK. 
 
 In the precious hours of childhood, 
 How we rambled far and wide ; 
 
 Adown the glen, amidst the meads. 
 And up the mountain side. 
 
 We plucked all sorts of wild floMers, 
 
 We told full many a story : 
 And, almost without knowing it, 
 
 Praised Nature and her glory. 
 
 O ! time seemed never-ending then, 
 
 We never thought at all 
 That childhood soon must pass away, 
 
 And life's dark shadows fall ! 
 
 The dandelion heads we took, 
 
 We blew the seeds away ; 
 And as many puffs as each required, 
 
 They told us the hour of day.
 
 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 55 
 
 But when poor children grow to men, 
 They different time must keep ; 
 
 'Tis many hours of the day for work, 
 And few at night for sleep. 
 
 And when I was a little boy 
 
 The clock was nought to me ; 
 Life seemed a joyous feeling, 
 
 Full of happiness and glee. 
 
 But when my little brother Ned 
 
 Was taken ill and died, 
 I found young life was bitter then : 
 
 I kissed his face and cried. 
 
 They told me 'twas at six o'clock 
 
 His breath had gone away . 
 Ah me ! I then began to learn 
 
 How they count the hour of day. 
 
 At six o'clock, I said to me. 
 
 And I thought of it at night ; 
 I thought of it in the afternoons, 
 
 And at the morning Tight. 
 
 At last I learnt the numbers 
 Of the old clock's solemn face : 
 
 And I could go, at the time I loved. 
 To my brother's resting-place
 
 66 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 
 
 Yes, many a summer night at six, 
 
 In the hush of eventide, 
 I Avent to weep at my brother's grave : 
 
 It was the hour he died. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 THE POOR MAN HANDLETH THE SUBJECT 
 OF WALKING STICKS. 
 
 A walking-stick is a common tiling, 
 
 And many people use them, 
 And I have known some young men go 
 
 Above a mile to choose theni. 
 
 Some kinds are smooth and polished Mell, 
 
 And some have silver heads, 
 With a little hole bored through, and tied 
 
 Witli dangling silken threads. 
 
 This is the sort that gentlemen 
 
 Oft flourish in the air. 
 Making a thrust at vacancy, 
 
 While country people stare. 
 
 Soihe other sticks, of heavier sort, 
 With carving-knives are furnished, 
 
 Which spring out, Avhon you shake the stick, 
 All sliarj), and briglitly burnished.
 
 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 57 
 
 This kind is used by gentlemen, 
 When night is dark as pitch, 
 For sticking into men or trees, 
 
 '& 
 
 You cannot well tell which. 
 
 Others are most unwieldy clubs, 
 
 But useful in their way : 
 Iking such as were employed in Jack 
 
 The Giant-killer's day. 
 
 And I have heard of other sticks. 
 That held both ink and pen : 
 
 And formed a curious writing-case 
 For literary men. 
 
 An air-gun other walking sticks 
 Contain, for shooting soft, 
 
 INIaking but little noise, and not 
 Requiring charges oft. 
 
 While others have a telescope. 
 
 To look at things afar ; 
 Being used by sentimental youths 
 
 To view the evening star. 
 
 A lion or a donkey's head 
 
 Graces the top of some ; 
 W^hile many have a human hand, 
 
 With fingers and a thumb. 
 
 E
 
 '58 VEKSES BY A POOR MAN. 
 
 And once I knew a curious man, 
 
 Who had a large collection 
 Of every kind of walking-sticks, 
 
 And all in great perfection. 
 
 Say, are there not some pleasing thoughts 
 "Which walking-sticks afford ? 
 
 I do not mean those dangerous ones, 
 With a dagger or a sword : 
 
 But stout old sticks of crab -tree, 
 
 Or hazel ones, or oaken, 
 Worn smooth by faithful services, 
 
 Nor easy to be broken. 
 
 I mean such sticks as ancient men. 
 
 In favourable weather, 
 Make use of when, on sunny noons. 
 
 They meet and talk together. 
 
 Yes ! when the long warm summer days 
 
 Bring aged people out, 
 I love to see the household sticks 
 
 With which they walk about. 
 
 While others, on the old rough bench, 
 
 Beneath some sycamore, 
 With staff in hand, delight to tell 
 
 Their youthful actions o'er.
 
 VERSES BY A VOOR MAN. 50 
 
 And oft, in lowly cottages, 
 
 Where aged people live, 
 They would not sell the household stick 
 
 For all that you might give ; 
 
 Because its simple history, 
 
 Familiar to their mind. 
 With by-gone days and faces fled, 
 
 Around their heart is twined. 
 
 Above the blackened chinmey-piece. 
 
 You may see it hanging there ; 
 Or else 'tis in the corner, close 
 
 Beside the elbow^-chair. 
 
 Or it may be, in childish glee, 
 
 Their little grandson, Dick, 
 Before the cottage, down the lane, 
 
 Is riding on the stick. 
 
 Say, arc not many pleasing thoughts 
 
 In these plain objects found ? 
 For simple unpolluted hearts 
 
 With simple things abound. 
 
 Hurrah ! then, for the walking-stick, 
 The staff both stout and strong, 
 
 Which little boys do ride upon, 
 
 Which helps old men along. ] 
 
 E 2
 
 60 VERSES BY A POOR MAX. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 THE POOR MAN SINGETH OF MUSIC. 
 
 How sweetly fall the dying tones of music on the 
 
 ear, 
 And bring back many lovely thoughts and recol- 
 lections dear ! 
 The Jew's-harp and the oaten pipe, the penny 
 
 trumpet small, 
 The happy faces beaming bright of boyhood's 
 
 time recall : 
 While whistles made of sycamore, cut in the hour 
 
 of spring. 
 Seem even now their music shrill upon the ear 
 
 to fling. 
 And wlien the bare-legged Ilighlandman, with 
 
 bagpipes sounding loud, 
 Came wandering thro' poor villages, we followed 
 
 in a crowd : 
 And when upon our listening ear the faint notes 
 
 died away, 
 We scampered back, and sung with joy some 
 
 ancient roundelay. 
 Yes I sweetly fall the dying tones of music on the 
 
 car: 
 They bring back many lovely tlioughts and recol- 
 lections dear.
 
 VEKSES BY A POOR MAX. 61 
 
 For music flows foi' rich and poor, in many a gusli- 
 
 ing sound, [around. 
 
 And spreads the majesty of God and nature all 
 
 The pealing organ in the churcli, the voice of 
 
 singing men, 
 I love them now, and when I ^^as a bov I loved 
 
 them then. 
 O ! think not that poor country men, who work 
 
 and till the land, 
 The feeling of delightful music do not understand ! 
 The warblings of a thousand birds, the murmur- 
 
 ings of streams. 
 With every voice of earth and sky that haunts the 
 
 uoet's dreams : 
 Such is the px-ecious music which the poor delight 
 
 to hear, 
 And they love the music nature gives in the open- 
 ing of the year, [breeze, 
 Thus I myself have often sat, and listened to the 
 That like some ancient fairy harp, was moaning 
 
 in the trees : 
 And when on some lone mountain top, where 
 
 notlung could be heard. 
 Save when at times there came the scream of the 
 
 wild mountain bird : 
 O ! then the very silence there was music to my 
 mind.
 
 ^2 VERSES BY A rOOE MAN. 
 
 And^I listened to such melody with head on hand 
 
 reclined. 
 True music, too, I oft have heard, when rich men 
 
 without pride 
 Talked kindly to poor hungry folks, and gave 
 
 them pence beside. 
 The human voice is music sweet, when words are 
 
 kindly spoken ; 
 But when dark passion utters them, O ! nature's 
 
 chords ai'e broken. [feeling 
 
 Then hearken ye to every note of joy and pious 
 ^'hich may upon your yielding soul at any time 
 
 be stealing : 
 And think upon your by -gone hours whenever 
 
 you may meet [street ; 
 
 The sound of pleasant music soft in any house or 
 And when the sound of thunder storms shall 
 
 rumble o'er your head, 
 O ! think upon the trumpet — that will sometime 
 
 wake the dead : 
 The trumpet of the archangel shall blow above 
 
 from heaven, 
 While the Son of Man comes on the clouds you 
 
 saw with thunder riven. 
 And may the stirring sound that then shall pierce 
 
 the sky so blue [j^^- 
 
 Be music blest of heavenly rest and happiness for
 
 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 63 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 THE POOR MAN'S JOURNEY TO SEE HIS 
 BROTHER BILL. 
 
 The poor man tells you next 
 
 Of a journey that he took : 
 All which he carefully noted down 
 
 In a leather pocket-book. 
 
 I went to see my brother Bill, 
 
 Who lived a long way off — 
 For they said he was consumptive, and 
 
 Had got a tickling cough. 
 
 Besides, when he went out to fish. 
 
 By way of recreation, 
 Standing in water half a day 
 
 Brought on an inflammation. 
 
 'O' 
 
 I walked on foot for several miles, 
 When the stage coach came by me, 
 
 And splashed my Sunday clothes with dirt, 
 The roads being very slimy. 
 
 I then cried out and stopped the coach. 
 
 And got upon the top, 
 And we went along at a slashing rate 
 
 By Harry Wilson's shop.
 
 G4 VERSES BY A POOR JIAX. 
 
 Upon the coach there was a man 
 
 In lialf a dozen coats, 
 And others of the passengers 
 
 Had things about their throats. 
 
 Two bucks, with savage looks at me. 
 
 Were smoking two cigars ; 
 And at the liinder end o' the coach 
 
 Were five or six jack tars. 
 
 Who talked of moonsails, sky-scrapei's, 
 Nor-westers, Avhite squalls, kings, 
 
 Sharks, mermaids, pirates, flying fish, 
 Rum punch, and such like things. 
 
 We passed by houses very quick, 
 I scarce could read the signs : — 
 
 As " Lobsters" — " Licensed to be drunk"- 
 " Gentlemen done for" — " Wines." 
 
 We then alighted from the coach, 
 
 I and the other passengers ; 
 And got some breakfast at an inn, 
 
 With eggs, and ham, and sassengers. 
 
 Up, up again, and on we went, 
 
 Till an aged man inside, 
 Got out and came upon the top, 
 
 To have a pleasant ride.
 
 VERSES BY A POOR MAX. 
 
 G5 
 
 He sat by me, and talked about 
 The markets and the weather ; 
 
 Though he was a fine gentleman, 
 We got on well together. 
 
 gui, un >ycn uujjv 
 
 At last I found the secret out 
 
 Of his calling and condition : 
 I'm sure he was some Doctor great, 
 
 Or learned old physician. 
 
 For he told me that my brother Bill 
 
 Would probably get better, 
 If he went by a prescription he 
 
 W"ould.send him in a lettei\ 
 
 And finding I w^as only poor, 
 
 He paid my travelling fare ; 
 We parted, and with tears I blessed 
 
 Him wdth his silvery hair. 
 
 On, on we drove through turnpike gates 
 
 And passed a flock of sheep ; 
 And, thinking of the kind old man, 
 
 I nearly fell asleep. 
 
 « Hold up ! you there !" cried one young blood ; 
 " He's drunk," exclaimed another : 
 Alas ! such words were hard to me, 
 I was dreaming of my brother I
 
 •66 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 
 
 At last we reached the old lane end: 
 The spot full well I knew, 
 
 Where I had gathered primroses 
 And plucked the violets blue. 
 
 I soon sprung off, the coach passed on, 
 
 I think I see it now ; 
 On, on, till wheels, and men, and hats, 
 
 All sunk behind yon brow. 
 
 I went with haste along the lane, 
 The flowers were tipped with dew ; 
 
 I reached the little wicket gate, 
 Where the creeping ivy grew, 
 
 I stood within the little porch 
 Where honeysuckle twined, 
 
 And many ancient feelings came 
 At once upon my mind. 
 
 I thought that all was very still, 
 No sound came on the ear; 
 
 I scarcely dared to go within. 
 My heart beat high witli fear. 
 
 O ! reader, have you ever stood 
 
 Beside the bed of death ? 
 And know you what it is to catch 
 
 A brother's dying breath ?
 
 VERSES BV A POOR MAN. 07 
 
 This was the scene that waited me, 
 
 I stood by his bedside ; 
 I knelt amongst his family — 
 
 He blessed us all and died ! 
 
 I saw him laid in the lowly grave, 
 And the earth was heaped above ; 
 
 Ah ! me — how loath we are to part 
 With such as we do love. 
 
 This was the second time the light 
 
 Of a brother's smile was taken 
 From the poor man's treasures here on earth ; 
 
 Yet he is not forsaken. 
 
 O ! no, my friends, when kindred dear 
 
 Are laid beneath the sod, 
 They only make us cling more close, 
 
 And seek a friend in God. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 STRANGE HISTORY OF A LITTLE BOY WITH 
 BLACK HAIR. 
 
 How well I remember the jovial time 
 When we got holly-bark for to make our birdlime ; 
 And the boy that of all boys was sure to be there. 
 Was a kind little playmate with curly black hair.
 
 68 VERSES BY A POOR MAX. 
 
 How the cowslips we gathered for wine so sweet, 
 As they grew in the pastures around our feet, 
 And the boy that was sure, when we went to be there, 
 Was the kind Httle lad with the curly black hair. 
 
 When with eye so mirthful and rosy cheek 
 
 We went to the woodlands, bird nests to seek ; 
 
 The first shout of joy that arose on the air 
 
 Was the voice of the boy with the curly black hair. 
 
 At games and at lesson^ at fishing and play. 
 Wherever our roaming feet happened to stray. 
 Our constant companion everywhere 
 Was the kind little boy with the curly black hair, 
 
 Months and years fled away, and we grew to be men, 
 And some playmates of childhood we saw not again ; 
 When weiii'hed down with sorrow and troubled with 
 
 care, 
 How I wished for the boy with the curly black hair ! 
 
 I sought him in vain where he once used to be, 
 I went to the spots that had echoed his glee ; 
 I asked where he was, and they gave me a stare. 
 When I called him the boy with the curly black hair. 
 
 It was years after this that I happened to see 
 A house filled with madmen of every degree : 
 And the one that laughed loudest and wildest there, 
 Was a face I remembered ^\ith curly bluck hair.
 
 VEUSKS BY A POOR MAX. 69 
 
 But ! how that laughter was changed, and the eye 
 
 Beamed not with such kindness as formerly : 
 
 I turned nie away from the terrible glare 
 
 That his eyes shot from under the curly black hair. 
 
 Farewell to thee! friend of my earliest years — 
 That laughter of thine only hastens my tears : 
 Ah ! me — tliat at last I should find thee there, 
 Thou kind little boy with the curly black luiir ! 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 THE POOR MAN SPEAKETH OF HIS OLD HAT. 
 
 My poor old hat and I 
 
 Have long been friends together ; 
 We have been roasted in the sun, 
 
 Aud battered by the Aveather. 
 
 For when the heat of summer comes, 
 Which working men axe fried in ; 
 
 Tliey have no time to seek the shade, 
 Nor a leather coach to ride in. 
 
 And at such times I always found 
 
 My old hat shield me well ; 
 For its brim is broad, and iu the sun 
 
 A little shadow fell.
 
 70 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 
 
 And when the storms of winter blow^ 
 For the poor there's no abiding 
 
 Within the hut, nor snug in bed, 
 Nor a leather coach to ride in. 
 
 And at such times I always found 
 
 My old hat shield me well ; 
 It was my friend in frosty winds, 
 
 And M'hon the thick snow fell. 
 
 I would not now exchange it for 
 The best that you could get : 
 
 Not even for such hats as some 
 All on one side do set. 
 
 Nor would I give it up for those 
 In which men march about, 
 
 Low-crowned, with brim on either side 
 Turned upwards like a spout. 
 
 Nor yet for one I once saw worn 
 By an old handsome captain. 
 
 With a narrow brim, and like the case 
 That sugar-loaves are wrapt in. 
 
 My hat is neither black nor white, 
 
 But of a dusky brown ; 
 The brim much worn by being pulled off 
 
 To gentlemen from town.
 
 VERSES BY A POOR MAX. 71 
 
 My poor old hat and I 
 
 Have braved the world for years : 
 And habit many a common thing 
 
 To the human mind endears. 
 
 Once, when I was a walking out 
 
 Upon a summer day, 
 I found an old hat in a wood, 
 
 By somebody thrown away. 
 
 But I will not throw thee away ! 
 
 My poor old shabby hat, 
 Nor shall a hole be made in thee 
 
 By any savage rat. 
 
 Nor shalt thou be fixed on a stick, 
 
 In fields where seed is sown. 
 To frighten hungry birds away, 
 
 And be in pieces blown. 
 
 Nor shall the deadly school-boy cut 
 
 Thy form in pieces round. 
 And charge his gun to shoot withal 
 
 At fieldfares on the ground. 
 
 O ! yes — my poor old hat and I 
 Have long been friends together ; 
 
 We have been roasted in the sun, 
 And battered by the weather.
 
 72 VERSES BY A POOR MAX. 
 
 And ye who can't afford to wear 
 
 Good hats, pray recollect, 
 It is not that v/hich covers you 
 
 That wins you true respect. 
 
 But it is that which underneath 
 Your hats and clothes is found ! 
 
 When all your thoughts are good and pure, 
 And when your heart is sound. 
 
 Then do not throw the ancient hat 
 
 In any ditch or spot, 
 But let it teach you true content 
 
 In every humble lot ! 
 
 XXXV. 
 THE POOR MAN'S ADVICE. 
 
 \Vhen lowering clouds of sorrow rise, 
 And you know not where to flee, 
 
 Betake thee, pilgrim, in thy grief, 
 To the Mount of Calvary : 
 
 Th(^ cross of Christ is standing there. 
 
 To calm for thee the troubled air.
 
 VERSKS liV A I'OOR MAX. 7'! 
 
 When pleasure's siren notes are sweet, 
 
 When her forms are fair to see ; 
 I pilgrim, bend thy faltering steps 
 
 To the Mount of Calvary : 
 The cross of Christ is standing there, 
 Tlian pleasure's form how much more fair I 
 
 When riches ope their hoarded stores, 
 
 And offer all to thee ; 
 O I stay not near such treacherous things, 
 
 l')Ut turn to Calvary : 
 The cross of Christ is standing there, 
 With treasures far beyond compare. 
 
 Forget not, wheresoe'er thou art. 
 
 By land, or on tlie sea ; 
 Thy lingering steps should lead thee on 
 
 To the Mount of Calvary : 
 The cross of Christ is standing there, 
 And its glory reaches everywhere. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 THE POOR BI.VN SPEAKETII OF A YOUNG LADY. 
 
 When poor men are sick, and cannot work, 
 
 How pleasant it is to see 
 Rich people kindly comfort them 
 
 With victuals and charity.
 
 74 VERSES BY A POOR MAX. 
 
 There was a young lady, long time ago, 
 
 As I have cause to remember, 
 . Who was kind to me when I was ill, 
 In the dreary month of December. 
 
 I was poorly indeed, and the people said 
 
 I wandered out of my senses : 
 And this young lady sent me some wine, 
 
 And paid the doctor's expenses. 
 
 1 have not forgot how tlie medical man 
 
 Deprived me of my blood : 
 And I thought he was going to take my life, 
 
 As was done with Robin Hood. 
 
 But, wlion I got better, I went with speed 
 
 To thank my benefactors : 
 And I happened to meet, as I went along, 
 
 With a set of strolling actors. 
 
 And I thought how soon, on this world's stage, 
 My own part miglit have ended ; 
 
 I might have dropped thro' some dark trap-door, 
 But now I was luckily mended. 
 
 Nor did I see any reason why 
 I was spared, while others died : 
 
 And when this came across my mind, 
 I leaned on a gate and cried ;
 
 VERSES BY A I'OOK MAN, "f^ 
 
 For I ^vas left in a weakly state 
 
 From being so long in bed, 
 And my body felt heavier than before, 
 
 And so did my eyes and head. 
 
 Time passed along, and away with him 
 
 My weakness quite was carried ; 
 And tliat young lady I spoke about 
 
 In the meantime had been married. 
 
 They lived in a large and handsome house, 
 
 In a place retired and private ; 
 A pleasant spot, with its winding walks, 
 
 For visitors to arrive at. 
 
 I went to give this lady fair 
 
 A poor man's honest blessing: 
 But, being too early, I had to v.ait, 
 
 For they told me she was dressing. 
 
 I got refreshment, anrl walked about 
 
 Amongst the trees and flowers : 
 For it was rosy summer then. 
 
 With its bright and gladsome hours. 
 
 It would have done you good to see 
 
 How all was kept in order ; 
 But I admired the most of all 
 
 Some wild-flowers in a border. 
 F 2
 
 .76 VERSES BY A POOR MAX. 
 
 And there were shrubs and climbing plants, 
 
 And some perfumed the air ; 
 Kind Nature's choicest gifts to man 
 
 Were scattered everywhere. 
 
 I met with a tall fine gentleman, 
 
 And on his arm there hung 
 As beautiful a lady-love 
 
 As ever poet sung. 
 
 How kindly then they spoke to me. 
 
 Without the slightest pride : 
 I blessed them in their happiness, 
 
 Him and his lovely bride. 
 
 I staid a short time at the place, 
 
 By special invitation : 
 And all the servants used me Avell, 
 
 (Indeed they had no occasion 
 
 To do aught else) ; the gentleman 
 
 And lady gave directions, 
 That on the poor man's rural garb 
 
 They should cast no reflections. 
 
 It woidd have pleased your heart to see 
 
 How all the household came, 
 And mot together morn and night, 
 
 In God's most holv name:
 
 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 77 
 
 To mark how all things may be done 
 
 In a good religious way ; 
 If you always watch the heart and lips 
 
 In all you do and say. 
 
 The poor man went through all the grounds 
 
 With one of the livery servants ; 
 And much, you may suppose, there was 
 
 For his notice and observance. 
 
 It is a very pretty place. 
 
 With its walks and painted flowers, 
 Its fountains and its greenhouses, 
 
 Its rockeries and bowers. 
 
 Farewell I then, to the gentleman, 
 
 And to his bonny bride : 
 I think I see them walking now, 
 
 In the garden, side by side. 
 
 XXXV II. 
 
 THE POOR MAN SPEAKETH OF THE DEATH 
 OF A MINSTREL. 
 
 Alone in the gloom of a shadowy glen, 
 
 Laid down at the foot of a willow, 
 A minstrel was ther^ on the cold dewy ground^ 
 
 And a stone w^as his only pillow.
 
 78 VERSES BY A. POOR MAN. 
 
 All ! dim wan his eye, once so sparkling and bright^ 
 
 The lustre had fled it for ever ; 
 And the rose that once bloomed on his beautiful 
 
 Never faded before — never, never I [cheek, 
 
 His lute, which so often he touched with delight, 
 In silence lay mournfully near him : 
 
 Yet it seemed in the language of pity to say — 
 '• If I could, I would play to cheer him," 
 
 Alas ! tender lute, tliy most soul-stirring notes 
 Would not have availed to restore him ; 
 
 And all that remains for thy harmony now 
 Is to warble an elegy o'er hini. 
 
 in nature's last agony, turning his head, 
 
 He gazed on his lute with emotion : 
 And, pouring a prayer from his quivering lips, 
 
 He died undisturbed in devotion. 
 
 He first saw the light in that dearly-loved spot, 
 In a cottage that stood near tli(> willow : 
 
 There his childhood he passed ere he wandered 
 abroad. 
 But he had not a stone lur his ])ill(>\v. 
 
 W here, where arc the arms that delighted to clasp 
 him — 
 The cyts that beamed joy wlim they saw him ?
 
 VERSES DY A POOR MAN. i ',) 
 
 Alas ! all the friends that were dear to his soul, 
 In the earth tlicy are mouldering below him I 
 
 And where is the cottage, the home of this heart ? 
 
 It remains not with pleasure to greet him ! 
 No more the fond smiles of affection and youth 
 
 In gladness are ready to meet him. 
 
 Hark ! hark to yon melody floating in air. 
 
 What a tremulous tone it diffuses : 
 'Tis the nightingale singing his funeral hymn, 
 
 'Tis a dirge for the child of the muses. 
 
 Thy lay, mournful warbler, alone trembles o'er him, 
 'Tis all that thou hast to present him : 
 
 No mourner appears at his grave but thyself, 
 None other is left to lament him ! 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 THE POOR MAN TKLLETH A BIBLK HLSTOKY. 
 
 JUDGES, CHAl'. XI. 
 
 There M'as a man of valour bold, a CJileadite was he, 
 It was three thousand years ago he fought most 
 
 valiantly ; 
 And in the Spirit of the Lord he put his armour on, 
 To fight against the Ammonites this warrior brave 
 
 is gone.
 
 80 VERSES BY A POOR MAX. 
 
 He vowed a vow unto the Lord : — " My God ! I 
 
 swear to thee, 
 That if thou give into my hands the haughty 
 
 enemy ; 
 When I my wearied limbs in peace to my own 
 
 home shall bring, 
 Whatever cometh from the doors shall be an 
 
 ofFei'ing." 
 The warrior spoke — with beating breast he waved 
 
 his hand on high, 
 He led his band in martial pride, to conquer or 
 
 to die. 
 From Aroer to Minnith tlien the shout of war arose, 
 And where the clustering grapes were hung he 
 
 smote his flying foes. 
 Tlie din of battle ceased at length : the warrior 
 
 bent his way. 
 To where, beneath the amber clouds, his home at 
 
 Mizpeh lay. 
 Alas ! the wreath of victory pressed coldly on his 
 
 brow, 
 And when he came unto his house he shuddered 
 
 at his vow : 
 His daugliter, in the fulness of her heart, with 
 
 gladness wild. 
 Came forth to meet her father — and she Avas his 
 
 only cliilj !
 
 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 81 
 
 With timbrels and with dances light she burst 
 
 upon his view, 
 To welcome him as conqueror, and as her father 
 
 too! 
 O! think u])ou this history, though dark and sad 
 
 it bo, 
 And, reader, search the Scriptures always most 
 
 attentively. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 THE POOK MAN SPEAKETU OP A COTTAGE BOV. 
 
 'Twas in a poor man's hut 
 
 A little boy was lying 
 Upon a hard and lowly bed : 
 
 You might tell that he was dying.] 
 
 His eyes were dim and sunk, 
 
 His fiice was pale and thin ; 
 His ttesli was gone, the very bones 
 
 Almost came through his skin. 
 
 And ever and anon 
 
 His mother by the bed 
 Did raise him up, or turn him round, 
 
 Or hold awhile his head.
 
 82 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 
 
 For people that are ill 
 
 Can seldom bear to lie 
 In one position long, but wish 
 
 The other side to try. 
 
 And when they ate their meal 
 At the resting hour of noon, 
 
 They gave their little dying boy 
 Some dinner in a spoon. 
 
 He said he could not bear 
 To let the hour go by ; 
 
 Because when he could nothing eat 
 It made his mother cry. 
 
 His appetite was gone. 
 He could not run about ; 
 
 And it was known to every one 
 That he was wearing out. 
 
 And several weeks befori'. 
 At the warmest time ol" day, 
 
 He used to sit in a sunny ])lace, 
 And watch his brothers play. 
 
 And then, wlien he grew woree, 
 He had not mucli desire 
 
 To face tlie air, but crept dose up 
 Beside the cheerful fin.
 
 VEKSKS UV A POOU MAN. 83" 
 
 Ami when he said his prayers, 
 
 His iiiotiier'a hand he took. 
 And love to God, and all of them, 
 
 Was mingled in his look. 
 
 He had a little flower 
 
 In a broken earthen pot; 
 He planted it when he was well, 
 
 And never had forgot. 
 
 This little flower was brought 
 
 When he could not get up ; 
 Tor he loved e'en then to water it 
 
 With his own little cup. 
 
 And when the summer sun 
 
 Each day was going to set, 
 Then near the cottage window he 
 
 Would often try to get. 
 
 He loved to see it sink 
 
 Behind the misty hill : 
 How much W(> like such common things 
 
 Whenever we are ill ! 
 
 At lengtli brown Autumn came, 
 Tlie leaves they strewed the lane, 
 
 And oft were blown by whistling winds 
 Against the window pan(>.
 
 84 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 
 
 And lie would oft look up, 
 And vacantly he smiled 
 
 Upon his mother, as she gazed 
 On her poor dying child. 
 
 In yonder churchyard green 
 A little grave there is ; 
 
 A flower is planted at its head- 
 Reader I that grave is his. 
 
 XL. 
 
 THE POOR MAN DISCOURSETII OF COMMON 
 
 SENSE. 
 
 There was a bustle going on 
 
 In a man's house one day ; 
 And many things wore packing up, 
 
 Because he; Mas going away. 
 
 Large boxes, corded, stood around, 
 Portmanteaus small and great ; 
 
 Und)r('llas, leather liat-boxcs, 
 And such like things, did wait.
 
 VERSKS liY A I'OOil MAX, (J5 
 
 lie liad to go to a distant place, 
 
 I leanit in conversation; 
 AVhich was the reason, sure enough, 
 
 Of all tliis preparation. 
 
 He \vent, and Iiail an accident, 
 
 And \vitli his dying breath 
 Ho owned that he had well prepared 
 
 For everything but death. 
 
 Another tinu', a fine large house 
 
 Was rapidly a-building ; 
 And many persons were employed 
 
 In painting tliere and gilding. 
 
 Flat boxes full of pictures came, 
 
 And gold and silver things ; 
 Chairs, sofas, lamps supported by 
 
 Young blackamoors with wings : 
 
 And many hundred ornaments, 
 With many a long hard name, 
 
 Which I could never comprehend, 
 To that fine house there came. 
 
 I was informed that all was done 
 For the young wealthy 'squire, 
 
 Who was about to take a wife 
 After his heart's desire.
 
 36 VERSES BY A TOOK MAX. 
 
 They went before the holy man, 
 The bridegroom's voice did falter ; 
 
 He looked but once — it \vas on her — 
 And died beside the altar. 
 
 The carriage which was meant to take 
 The two young people married, 
 
 In that same vehicle the corpse 
 Of the dead man was carried. 
 
 The pi-eparations he had made 
 Were known to all about ; 
 
 But whether he pi-epared for death 
 The neighbours seemed to doubt. 
 
 They did intend to see some scenes 
 
 Upon the continent, 
 And come back to the mansion when 
 
 The honey-moon was spent. 
 
 But he was quickly called away, 
 Nor did his bride recover ; 
 
 Her broken heart was early laid 
 In the grave beside her lover. 
 
 &' 
 
 Again, 'twas in a lonely room 
 A student pale was sitting, 
 
 And dreams of future eminence 
 Over his soul were. flitting.
 
 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 5J7 
 
 Day after day he read in books, 
 
 And often he woidd write ; 
 For in sueli things, 'twas always said, 
 
 He placed his sole delight. 
 
 He had much learning to prepare 
 
 For some examination ; 
 And all night long sometines he read, 
 
 And had no relaxation. 
 
 At length his iaded check declared 
 
 His health was going fast : 
 But still he read and wrote away. 
 
 Until the very last. 
 
 And when consumed almost to naught 
 
 He lay upon his bed, 
 He found he wanted other thincs 
 
 Than such as he had read. 
 
 He said he had prepared him well 
 
 For the examination ; 
 But as for death, he never thought 
 
 Of making preparation. 
 
 Another man and I 
 
 We once went out to fish ; 
 I do not often go — it was 
 
 His own particular wish.
 
 ^ VERSES BY A POOR MAX. 
 
 We Avent througli several woods, 
 And over a bridge beside, 
 
 And fell to fishing in a place 
 That was not very wide. 
 
 It w^as a very solemn stream. 
 And its dark waters slow, 
 
 Seemed almost to inform the eye 
 That spirits lived below. 
 
 And on the farther side, 
 
 Down rocks of gray and green, 
 The trickling of the watei'-drops 
 
 !Might be both heard and seen. 
 
 And when a fish v oukl rise, 
 A hollow sound was heard, 
 
 And next there came the rusli 
 Of some scared water-bird. 
 
 A melancholy stream it was, 
 And many people say, 
 
 That divers men selected it 
 To jiut themselves away ; 
 
 And tell how some poor fishermen 
 Found hanging in a tree 
 
 A portion of a rotted corpse, 
 -Most horrible to see.
 
 VERSES BY A POOH MAX. 
 
 ""Twas hanging just above a place 
 Where the stream is still and deep ; 
 
 The scene would almost tempt your brain 
 Into the gulf to leap. 
 
 We cauglit no H.sh ; yet in one spot 
 
 The man that was with me 
 Had hooked a huge trout, but at length 
 
 He lost it awkwardly. 
 
 And here, I am obliged to say, 
 
 He used a common oath ; 
 I was afraid his ways would bring 
 
 Some judgment on us both. 
 
 For when I told him of his sin, 
 With a leer he turned him round. 
 
 And with a greater oath he swore 
 The trout weighed near a pound. 
 
 I left him fishing, and had but 
 
 A little distance gone, 
 When lightning flashed, and suddenly 
 
 A thunder-storm came on : 
 
 I went into a sort of cave 
 
 Beneath a neighbouring roc;k, 
 
 And di mal were the eclio.s loud 
 Of every thunder s'.iock. 
 
 G
 
 90 VERSES RY X POOR MAX. 
 
 I then considered how the man 
 That came with nie was right : 
 
 For he said the storm was coming, when 
 The fishes would not bite. 
 
 I thought of other matters, too, 
 When there came a dreadful crack, 
 
 And all tlie giant rocks and cliffs 
 Returned the echo back. 
 
 I tlien considered how we liad 
 Prepared to kill the trouts : 
 
 Were we prepared for death, ifwa 
 Had met him thci'eaboxits ? 
 
 At length the thunder roiled away. 
 
 The sound afar was gone, 
 And on the watery rocks and tioes 
 
 The sun with snhnidour shone. 
 
 Beneath a tree, in going back, 
 All scorched and burnt I found 
 
 Tlie man I have been speaking of, 
 Stretched out upon the ground. 
 
 To that great spreading tree 
 
 For shelter he Jind fled : 
 All ! little do tlie living think 
 
 IIuw soon they join the dead !
 
 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 
 
 His eyes wei-e fixed, and in his hand 
 He clutched his fishing rod : 
 
 The lightning called hiui unpivpared 
 To go and meet his God. 
 
 O ! reader, then prcpai'c for death — 
 Take warning from my rhyme : 
 
 How many have been called away, 
 And you as yet have time. 
 
 And ye, who boast of common sense. 
 Prove that you do possess it : 
 
 Act here, as in each common cas(\ 
 O I seize the time, and bless it I 
 
 91 
 
 XLI. 
 
 THK POOR -MAN TALKF.TH OF CLOUDS AND 
 SUNSHINK. 
 
 Do you see yon cloud, like a funeral shroud, 
 'Mid the twinkling stais of evc> ? 
 
 'Tis just in the place where the sun in his race 
 Did a golden curtain leave : 
 
 He sank like a giant into his tomb, 
 
 And his robe of glory has changed to gloonu 
 G 2
 
 92 VERSES BY A rOOR MAN. 
 
 The clouds are things on heavenly Avings, 
 
 How various is their form ! 
 Like a snow-white fleece, some float in peace, 
 
 And others roll on the stomn ; 
 And others, like rocks, rush on the sky, 
 Seeming to frown in their pride on high. 
 
 Like a golden bar, in the west afar, 
 
 I many a cloud have seen. 
 And the distant blue came sweetly through 
 
 Li the dim faint light between. 
 At the hour of even I love to see 
 The sun and the clouds i)lay fitfully. 
 
 And many a day, when far away 
 The rain-cloud's form has gone, 
 
 The sun's bright rays on its watery haze 
 In a glorious arch have shone : 
 
 Like all precious stones in one circling glow 
 
 Was tlie beauty then of that heavenly l)ow. 
 
 In the life of man thus we may scan 
 
 A lesson of lioly love ; 
 To-day may be sorrow, hut on the morrow 
 
 A light is sent from above : 
 On tlic cloud of our trouble an arc is built, 
 Tis the bow of our Cod, witli liis glory gilt.
 
 VERSES BY A POOR MAX. 93 
 
 And the feeling of love for the Being above, 
 
 And for all his works divine, 
 And a hope in the breast of a home of rest, 
 
 How like precious gems they sliine ! 
 The hues on the rain-cloud may fade away, 
 But never shall forms like these decay. 
 
 At night's still noon, the silvery moon, 
 When the clouds are fleeting o'er, 
 
 In her lessened sheen is faintly seen 
 Througli the misty veil before. 
 
 'Tis thus with men — for we dimly gaze 
 
 Through the darkened glass of oiw mortal haze. 
 
 Let all who live, their praises give 
 To the Lord of tlit' clouds and light : 
 
 He sends the rains on the thirsty plains. 
 And gives us the day and night. 
 
 O I blessed be the kindness of 2)ower divine. 
 
 For the clouds of heaven and the warm sunshine. 
 
 And Avheneer you behold the rainliow of gold, 
 With its colours so bright and fair, 
 
 Let it teach you to love the Almighty above, 
 Who placed its splendour there : 
 
 And l)lcss tli(^ great kindness of power divine, 
 
 That made the rainboM' of peace to shine.
 
 94 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 
 
 And when to your eye, in the lofty sky, 
 
 The clouds of heaven appear ; 
 As they roll away from the face of day, 
 
 So shall your sorrows here. 
 True faith can pierce through the clouds so high, 
 And bear up the soul on its wings to the sky. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 THE POOR 3IAN SUOWETII HOAV THERE IS NO PEACE 
 
 TO THE WICKED, AND IlOW^ THEIR TASTE AND 
 
 ENJOYMENTS ARE SPOILED. 
 
 llow sweet is the air where tlie wild flowers 
 
 are growing, 
 Wliere through the rich meadows the streamlets 
 
 are flowing : 
 Yet tliis sweetness is perfectly found by those 
 
 only 
 Whom sill has not made to feel wretched and 
 
 lonely. 
 
 J II vain the young flowerets their perfumes are 
 
 giving 
 Tor one in whose bosom no good thoughts are 
 
 living ; 
 In vain flow the streamlets, in nmnnuring measure, 
 For the eai- that receives not a w hisper of pleasure.
 
 VERSES in A I'OOK MAN. i)5 
 
 How green are the trees when the fresh year is 
 
 springing, 
 How the glad httle Ijirds in their branches are 
 
 singing : 
 Yet such pleasures are perfectly known to those 
 
 only 
 Whom sin has not made to feel wretched and 
 
 lonely 
 
 » 
 
 In vain the green trees in the soft air are waving 
 For one wiiose best feelings the world is en- 
 slaving: 
 In vain the ghul warblers tlieir music are pouring 
 For him whose sad bosom God finds not adoring. 
 
 How bright is the sky where the fleet clouds are 
 
 flying, 
 In the long days of summer, when breezes are 
 
 sighing : 
 Yet such brightness is perfectly seen by those only 
 Wliom sin bus not made to feel wretched anJ 
 
 lonely. 
 
 In vain the lisrlit <'louds in the? I)liie skv are 
 
 dancin<r, 
 Like war-steeds on high in their own glory 
 
 prancing —
 
 00 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 
 
 In vain on their path the briglit colours are 
 
 dwelling 
 For him in -whose heart passions stern are rebelling. 
 
 HoAV sweet is the landscape in beauty reposing, 
 A thousand loved scenes to the charmed eye 
 
 disclosing ; 
 Yet its beauty is perfectly seen by those only 
 Whom sin has not made to feel wretched aiifl. 
 
 lonely. 
 
 In vain still the landscape its treasures is spreading 
 For him on whose dark soul no lustre is sheddins — 
 In vain floats the magic of nature around him, 
 If sin with its cold icy fetters has bound him. 
 
 Th<> voices of childhood and innocence, bi-eathin£r 
 A spell o'er yon Iiut where the gray smoke is 
 
 wreathing: 
 Such sounds are deliglitful and sweet to those only 
 Whom sin has not made to feel wretched and 
 
 lonely. 
 
 The smiles and the accents of pure infant gladness 
 
 Are unfelt by the man sin has steeped in her 
 sadness : 
 
 The soul that shines forth in the young, simple- 
 minded, 
 
 Is unseen by the eye that c(irrui)tion has blinded.
 
 VERSES liV A POOH .M.V.N. 97 
 
 'Tis sill that destroys both our taste and good 
 feeling, 
 
 Like a cloud in the sky o'er our heart darkly 
 stealing : 
 
 Of the sweet sights of nature it mars the enjoyment, 
 
 And takes half the pleasure from every employ- 
 ment. 
 
 Let each one among us remember that trouble. 
 When it comes on a sinner, is sure to be double ; 
 And sin spoils the joy of a Saviour ap])earing, 
 For, instead of rejoicing, the wicked are fearing. 
 
 If you wish, then, to taste all the pleasures most 
 
 splendid, 
 And such pleasures, too, as shall never be ended, 
 Shun things that are bad, and seek after good only, 
 And then you Avill never feel wretched and lonely. 
 
 XLIII. 
 ARTHUR GRAY. 
 
 There was a man called Arthur Gray, 
 
 A cottager was he ; 
 He had a wife, and brought well up 
 
 A numerous family.
 
 98 VERSES BY A POOR MA>'. 
 
 It was a pleasing thing to view. 
 
 Upon a Sabbath day, 
 The sons and daughters, clean and neat, 
 
 Of honest Arthur Gray. 
 
 Yon cottage door is opened now, 
 
 And o'er the village green 
 They come along (so Memory paints) 
 
 Those two old trees between. 
 
 Yes ! Artliur Gray, thy family 
 
 Are through the white church-gate, 
 
 Thou lovest God, and never do 
 Thy household come too late. 
 
 Such people as come late to church 
 
 And such as keep away, 
 I am afraid they never think 
 
 About the judgment day. 
 
 In other matters you contrive 
 To hit the time more nearly ; 
 
 And, if there's money in the case, 
 You prize a minute dearly. 
 
 Yet money, weighed against the soul. 
 
 Is light as any featlier ; 
 Your precious soul is more to you 
 
 Than all the world together.
 
 VERSUS IJV A POOR MAN. 99 
 
 Besides, it is a Bible truth, 
 
 To pious people known — 
 We are the servants of tlie Lord, 
 
 Our time is not our own. 
 
 And this was felt by Arthur Gray, 
 
 His children and his wife : 
 God's servants Avere they for the term 
 
 Of this their earthly life. 
 
 He taught his fiunily to l)less 
 
 Their Master great, in heaven, 
 With whom the liberty to speak. 
 
 To every one is given. 
 
 '• It is by earnest prayer you speak 
 With God, (said Arthur Gray) ; 
 
 And if your words come from the heart, 
 He will not turn away." 
 
 With words like these the cottager 
 
 Would to his eiiildren talk, 
 When, after his hard daily work, 
 
 He home witli themwouhl walk. 
 
 For at the evening hour they loved, 
 
 Down by yon little bourne, 
 To meet their father on the road 
 
 They knew he would return.
 
 100 VERSES BY A rOOR MAX. 
 
 And often, at the hour of noon. 
 
 They took his dinner there : 
 And when the times were hard, alas ! 
 
 They had but little fare. 
 
 Yea, once vhen sickness had been in 
 The house, and left them poor, 
 
 At last he went, for a small sum, 
 To work u2)on the moor. 
 
 At noon his little son aiTiv'ed, 
 But brought him naught to eat : 
 
 He cried and sat upon the turf, 
 Beside his father's feet. 
 
 Yet Arthur Gray did not complain, 
 
 But hoped for better days : 
 For Providence the bending reed 
 
 Will in its goodness raise. 
 
 The poor hath hope — these precious words- 
 
 The Holy Scriptures say : 
 ('Tis in the ancient book of Job), 
 
 And so said Arthur Gray. 
 
 He thouglit ui)on the cares of those 
 
 In many a sacred story: 
 Affliction worketh for us an 
 
 Eternal weight of glory.
 
 VERSES BY A I'OOU MAN. 
 
 He thought upon his chihh-eji dear, 
 
 lie thought upon his wife; 
 He thought how Christ had plainly said 
 
 He was the bread of life. 
 
 He knew that though, from want of food, 
 
 The l)ody it may perisli, 
 The hungry soul shall live, and sliall 
 
 In endless glory Hourish. 
 
 At length came better times — at length. 
 
 With gradual decay. 
 Bent down by toil and years was seen 
 
 The form of Arthur (J ray. 
 
 And when he died, to jjart from him 
 Was to his friends distressin<j : 
 
 He left to his loved family 
 His Bible and his blessing. 
 
 " I trust we all shall meet again, 
 When time has passed away : — 
 
 Receive my spirit, Lord I"' were tlie 
 Last words of Artliur (irav.
 
 102 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 THE POOR MAN SHOWETH HOW MEMORY 
 GOT UP AND WENT A WALKING. 
 
 Bright was the morning 
 
 In nature's adorning, 
 When Memory rose from her dreamy bed ; 
 
 Over the hills, 
 
 With their purling rills, 
 In her streaming delicate robes, she fled. 
 
 Hard by a fountain, 
 
 At the foot of a mountain, 
 A sweet little girl was lingering there ; 
 
 Her large blue eye 
 
 Was pure as the sky. 
 And roses were wreathed in her silky hair. 
 
 In accents gay 
 
 She was singing a lay, f Hours." 
 
 And its burden was something like " Happy 
 
 She w^as my sister. 
 
 The breezes kissed her. 
 She fled away to the green-wood bowers. 
 
 Where tall elms fling. 
 In their shadowing, 
 A balmy coolness around the sjiot,
 
 VERSES liV A POOR MAN. 10.'^ 
 
 In summer days, 
 'Mid the noontide blaze, 
 When the sultry sun is burning hot : 
 
 A village school 
 
 Is there in the cool. 
 And Memory gazed for a little space ; 
 
 For faces strange, 
 
 And many a change, 
 Were marked by her in the Avell-known place. 
 
 Yet there on the green, 
 
 All plain to be seen, 
 The daisies were growing amongst the grass ; 
 
 The little stream 
 
 Still fair did seem, 
 As it glanced in the sun like polished glass. 
 
 'Twas there, in the time 
 
 Of boyhood's prime, 
 I conned my lesson o'er and o'er ; 
 
 I think I see 
 
 The master, he 
 Will never toacli in the school any more. 
 
 They will not find 
 A heart more kind, 
 Than that which beat in his aged breast ;
 
 104 VERSES BY A TCOR MAX. 
 
 The smooth green-sward, 
 In yon churchyard, 
 Now covers the home of his lonely rest. 
 
 The pond whereon, 
 
 In days by-gone. 
 Our walnut shells we used to sail — 
 
 The field, where oft 
 
 We raised aloft 
 Our spangled kite on the gentle gale : 
 
 How ft-esh and fair 
 
 Tlu'V still looked there, 
 And Memory .slied a silent tear : 
 
 For years may tiy 
 
 On swift wings by, 
 Yet ever shall thin":s like these be dear. 
 
 '&■- 
 
 My own dear home ! 
 
 Full oft shall roam 
 The steps of Memory back to thee ; 
 
 Where stillness reigns 
 
 In (juiet lanes, 
 And I lamiliar faces see. 
 
 O cherish, then, 
 
 Ye sons of nun I 
 Thr love of old familiar things : 
 
 The light and truth 
 
 Ol' early youth 
 Will gild all your imaginings.
 
 VERSES BV A I'OUU MAX. lOo 
 
 XLV. 
 
 THE POOR MAN PAINTETEI THE PICTURE OF 
 HUMAN LIFE. 
 
 I met a child, its pinafore 
 
 Was filled with pretty flowers : 
 
 And I mused upon the happiness 
 Of childhood's fleeting hours. 
 
 The little bov had gathered them 
 
 In yonder bloomy glade, 
 Nor fancied that such lovely things 
 
 Would ever droop and fade. 
 
 I saw him next ])ursuing close 
 
 A gaudy butterfly ; 
 With hat in hand he ran along, 
 
 And was more blithe than I. 
 
 He listened to each little bird. 
 As it poured its cheerfid song ; 
 
 I saw no more — he went away, 
 Driving his hoo]) along. 
 
 I saw a man, his heart was set 
 On getting wealth and power ; 
 
 He built large castles in the air 
 Each feverish passing hour. 
 II
 
 106 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 
 
 One moment, and his beaming face 
 With happy thoughts was bright ; 
 
 Another, and the ilasli of day 
 Was turned to dark midnight. 
 
 He stood, methought, upon a cliff, 
 
 And cast his eyes around ; 
 And beauteous -was the prospect, with 
 
 Its sweet enchanted ground. 
 
 in golden glory distant things 
 With dazzling hues were drest: 
 
 And when he saw the scene, his heart 
 Beat quickly in his breast. 
 
 But clouds of dusky form, and dull, 
 
 (^aine rolling from afar ; 
 And Horror stalked along, and drew 
 
 His thirsty scimitar. 
 
 Come down, come down, thou man of thought. 
 
 Before it be too late ! 
 Hush not in wilful blindness on 
 
 The torrent of thy fate. 
 
 Of this world's ocean, roaring high, 
 
 The tide let others stem: 
 But let thy peacefid l)ark steer by 
 
 The star of Bethlehem.
 
 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 107 
 
 There was a Avorn and aged man, 
 
 His hair was thin and gray, 
 And voices from the rutliless tomb 
 
 Were calling him away. 
 
 Methought 'twas in a green churchyard,. 
 
 With feeble steps and hlow, 
 He x'cad the tombstones, and thought much 
 
 On them that slept below. 
 
 A new-made grave was there, around 
 
 Were many ancient bones ; 
 The old man fell into the hole 
 
 Amongst loose earth and stones. 
 
 The clock struck twelve, the solemn sound 
 
 Came on me as he fell — 
 It seemed almost as if 'twas meant 
 
 To sound his funeral knell. 
 
 O childhood ! happy in thy glee, 
 
 And unpolluted mind : 
 O manhood ! Avhat delightful dreams 
 
 Thy years have left behind. 
 
 And thou, old age, tliough near the grave, 
 By time thy steps are driven ;
 
 108 ATEESES BY A POOR MAN. 
 
 Yet think thy feet are also nigh 
 Tlie blessed land of heaven. 
 
 Both childhood and maturer age, 
 While thiough this uorld we roam, 
 
 They lead us to another scene — 
 The good man's only home. 
 
 XLVI. 
 THE THREE BROTHERS. 
 
 Three brothers dwelt in a humble cot, 
 
 Retired from the busy throng 
 Of their fellow men, for the three loved not 
 To dwell on earth, save in that one spot. 
 
 Nature's own wild scenes among. 
 When the glimmering vest of evening shade 
 W^as thrown o'er their own loved mountain glade^ 
 And the hallowed hour was more to tiicm 
 Than the meed of a jewelled diadem — 
 O ! then they would sit at the cottage door, 
 
 While the summer bird was giving 
 His evening song to the praise of Ilim 
 
 That watches o'er the living.
 
 VERSES BY A TOOR MAX. 109 
 
 And the rill that down the inountaui side 
 Like a stream of silver was seen to glide, 
 As the jDarting sun shone on it. 
 
 Was a tale of truth to the jaensive soul, 
 That the God who makes the thunder roll, 
 Who feeds the young ravens when they call, 
 For man created that golden ball, 
 Whose lustre was flung upon it. 
 
 But where are the three brothers now, 
 Who climbed so oft yon mountain's brow — 
 Who worshipped God in the lonely glen, 
 Afar from the troubled haunts of men — 
 Whose evening song and evening prayer 
 Were all that smote the quiet air. 
 Save when from some half-shaded branch 
 
 In yonder leafy dingle. 
 At intervals a warbler's note 
 
 Was sweetly heard to mingle, 
 And the little brook, as it bublhd by, 
 Low-murmuring, sent a symphony ? 
 Alas I they are lying side by side 
 Beneath the churchyard trees. 
 In the sacred earth, and many a mile 
 From the place where their home was wont to smile^ 
 And fresli was the mountain breeze.
 
 110 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 
 
 I went to the cot, the mucli loved spot, 
 
 While the summer bird was giving 
 His evening song of praise to Him 
 
 That watches o'er the living : 
 And the rill adown the mountain side 
 Like a stream of silver appeared to glide, 
 
 As the parting sun shone on it : 
 And it told a tale to my pensive soul. 
 That the God who makes the thunders roll, 
 Who feeds the young ravens when they call, 
 For man created that golden ball. 
 
 Whose lustre was flung upon it. 
 
 I placed me near the cottage door, 
 
 Where the three so oft had been ; 
 'Twas the same loved spot — the same loved hour- 
 And mellow the fainting beams did pour 
 A rich tint o'er the scene. 
 
 Yea, that hallowed hour was more to me 
 Than the meed of a diadem could be. 
 Sad, sad is the memory ol" the dead, 
 
 'Neath the grassy mound reclining: 
 But hope will her heavenly halo shed 
 Around their cold and lowly bed, 
 
 Like a wreatii of glory shining.
 
 VERSES BV A I'OOIl MAN. Ill 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 THE POOR MAN POINTETH OUT THE FOLLY 
 OF WRITLNG BOOKS. 
 
 I found a poor old man, 
 
 With higli cheek bones, 
 Sitting upon some straw. 
 
 One morning, breaking stones. 
 
 And every time he struck 
 
 He cried out, " Iley !" 
 Which made me look about, 
 
 And turn that way. 
 
 Such was his piercing eye, 
 
 And general appearance. 
 That I could not pass by 
 
 Without some interference. 
 
 I talked witii him, and found 
 
 He had an education, 
 Which made me ask how he 
 
 Was in that situation. 
 
 He seemed a little shy, 
 
 And did not like to say 
 What circumstances had 
 
 Reduced him in that way.
 
 112 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 
 
 At last he heaved a sigh, 
 And with a mournful look, 
 
 As if the subject gave him pain, 
 He said — " I wrote a book." 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 THE POOR MAN TALKETH OF A CANDLE, 
 AND MAKETH COMPARISONS. 
 
 As a candle that burns away by itself, 
 In a tenantless room, on a corner shelf ; 
 Such is the hermit tliat lives in a m ood, 
 Doing his fellow-creatures no good. 
 
 And as a moth round the candle flies. 
 Led by the glare, till at last he dies ; 
 So worldly things attract us on, 
 Till our fate is sealed, and we ai'e gone. 
 
 And as the candle burns very fast. 
 When a draught of air is sweeping past; 
 So, when we go with the worldly tide. 
 We are very soon at the (muI of our ride. 
 
 And as the candle, there is no doubt. 
 May be at any time l)lown out ; 
 So men die suddenly all around, 
 And dead in their beds arc often found.
 
 VERSES BY A POOR MAX. 113 
 
 And as the candle runs to waste, 
 If you take it along in too much haste; 
 So you ruin the human constitution, 
 By wars, and riot, and revolution. 
 
 XLIX 
 
 THE POOR MAN, BY A TRUE HISTORY, 
 PROVETH THAT THE TIMES ARE CHANGED. 
 
 A stranger came to a village one day, 
 From over the salt seas far away ; 
 Full many a mile he had travelled, to rest 
 Among the friends that his heart loved best. 
 
 I am cumc to my native land again, 
 
 After many years spent among foreign men : 
 
 As the wounded bird returns to die 
 
 In the place where at first it learnt to fly. 
 
 My father and mother I long to see, 
 And sister Mavy, so dear to me ; 
 But our old cottage I seem to miss — 
 Yet it should be here — pray, how is this ? 
 
 Why, Sir, you do not seem to know, 
 
 Tlic liouse was pulled down long ago, 
 
 I'or Justice Grasp-all wished to see 
 
 From his drawing-i'oom window yon willow-tree.
 
 114 VERSES BY A POOR MAX. 
 
 Your father and sister were dead before, 
 Or else their minds would have felt it sore ; 
 And when your mother was made to part 
 With the cottage, she died of a broken heart. 
 
 Ah I wo is me — my soul is sad ; 
 I w'ill seek the haunts were I once was glad ; 
 I will stray by the side of the winding stream, 
 Whei'e in days of old I used to dream. 
 
 But the pathway is stopt, where the water runs, 
 And the place is full of new spring-guns ; 
 For Doctor and Mrs. Chanticleer hate 
 To have any strangers on their estate. 
 
 I will lay me down and die in peace : 
 
 O, Sir; you can't for the new police — 
 
 They will take you for drunk, the more's the pity. 
 
 And thrust your honour into the kitty. 
 
 The stranger that came to the village one day, 
 
 From over the salt seas far away, 
 
 Is now in his quiet grave, at rest 
 
 Among the friends that his heart loved best.
 
 VERSKS BY A POOR MAN. 115 
 
 L. 
 
 HOW THE POOR MAN LEARNT HIS LESSON. 
 
 When I was a little boy, 
 
 And used to go to school, 
 I passed by the field of the slothful. 
 
 And the vineyard of the fool. 
 
 And lo! it was all grown over with thorns, 
 And nettles had covered its face, 
 
 And the wall thereof was broken down : — 
 It was a desolate place. 
 
 I saw it, and considered well 
 
 How every person's mind 
 Is a vineyard rented of the Lord, 
 
 As hereafter we shall find. 
 
 I got my lesson better then 
 
 Than ever I did before ; 
 And when that I had said my task, 
 
 I thought it o'er and o'er. 
 
 Lord ! grant we may improve our minds. 
 As thou wouldst have it (h)ii(' : 
 
 And may tliy mercy lighten on us, 
 For the sake of thj' dear Son.
 
 116 ■VERSES BY A POOR MAX. 
 
 LI. 
 
 THE POOR MAN SPEAKETH OF THE DEATH 
 OF THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 'Twas on a peaceful Sabbatli eve, 
 
 When days were long and nights were clear, 
 Such as might make us wish to live, 
 
 And look, and weep, and linger here. 
 
 Oil such an eve, young Geraldine, 
 With eye fixed on the setting sun, 
 
 Drank in the glory of the scene, 
 The last she was to gaze upon : 
 
 For pale consumption's deadly seal 
 
 Had long been stamped upon her brow : 
 
 Ah ! me, she is prepared to feel — 
 The summons is not sudden now. 
 
 Her raven tresses fall adown 
 
 Her neck of purest loveliest white ; 
 
 Her braided frontlet seems a crown, 
 
 Tinged with the sun's rich glowing light. 
 
 Methinks it is an emblem true 
 
 Of that more pure and heavenly sheen, 
 
 WMiich, after earth's last sad adieu, 
 Shall wreathe the brow of Geraldine.
 
 VERSES BY A POOI! MAX. I 1 7 
 
 She seems like some fair sculptured form, 
 O'er which a branch of cypress grows, 
 
 And where the lightning of the storm 
 Its vanishing effulgence throws. 
 
 Yet all is calm — and calm is she : 
 
 Her earthly hopes are weeping round — 
 
 Father and mother, sister, he 
 
 To whom her maiden heart is bound. 
 
 She knows to her yon orb of gold 
 In this frail world shall never rise ; 
 
 She feels what never can be told. 
 
 To heaven she lifts her streaming eyes. 
 
 The sun is set, and all is still, 
 
 As if affliction ne'er had been : 
 The moon is peering o'er the hill — 
 
 But where is lovely Geraldine ! 
 
 LII. 
 THE POOR MAN SPEAKETH OF A TOAD. 
 
 Poor crawling thing I I pity thee, for many people 
 
 say, 
 Thou art a venomous animal, and frighten thee 
 
 away :
 
 118 VERSES BY A POOR JIAN. 
 
 And some believe that poison strong is from thy 
 
 mouth spit forth, 
 And think thou art the nastiest thing that creep- 
 
 eth on the earth. 
 Nay, I Iiave seen young Ijoys attack thy harmless 
 
 form with sticks, 
 And take delight in playing thee a hundred cruel 
 
 tricks. 
 Poor timid inoffensive toad ! I love to see thy head 
 Look out from some old snug retreat, desirous to 
 
 be fed : 
 And many stories I have heard, but need not now 
 
 repeat them, 
 Of people bringing flies, and then the toad came 
 
 out to eat them ; 
 And that a toad was found alive within a solid tree, 
 Though how he could get in or live, I do not 
 
 clearly see. 
 1 knew a kind old gentleman who made a toad his 
 
 pet, 
 Feeding it with such proper things as he might 
 
 chance to get : 
 And when the old man died, the toad looked out 
 
 for him in vain, 
 And by a little girl at last was found dead in a lane. 
 Schoolmasters all I I beg of you, and hope that 
 you will order it,
 
 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 119 
 
 That, when your sehohirs fiiul a toad, they never 
 
 are to murder it. 
 Be kind to all poor helpless things whicli God 
 
 himself created ; 
 And love the toad, \\ hose character is just what I 
 
 have stated. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 THE POOR MAN TELLETH HOW HE WENT TO 
 
 SEE A FRIEND OF HIS WHO WAS A GREAT STUDENT, 
 
 AND WHAT HAPPENED. 
 
 The shades of night had gathered round 
 
 The student's lonely cell ; 
 The still air bore no other sound 
 
 Than the voice of the curfew bell. 
 
 I saw him scan the classic page, 
 Whose treasures oped before him, 
 
 And the glories of each former age 
 Had shed their magic o'er him. 
 
 At times, amidst the learned lore 
 Which filled his youtiiful mind, 
 
 Voices from home were stealing o'er, 
 Like harp-tones on the Mind.
 
 J 20 VERSES BY A TOOR MA>". 
 
 Methouglit upon his feverish Ijiow 
 
 The laurel vreath was bound, 
 With Avhich so often here below, 
 
 In dreams, the young are crowned. 
 
 I turned away — no other one 
 
 Save God and he were there : 
 For I knew the student should be alone 
 
 When he pouis his evening prayer. 
 
 ***** 
 A feAv short hours had fled away. 
 
 When again I sought his cell, 
 And methought 1 heard, as I went along, 
 
 The sound of a passing-bell. 
 
 I found no vision of classic poMci" 
 
 I wept — and that aloud — 
 For, in place of the smile of the former hour, 
 
 I sazed on his funeral shroud. 
 
 Alas ! no huud could grace his brow, 
 
 W^hich fancy had flung around it ; 
 But the cypress branch in its sadness now 
 
 Was the only wreath that bound it. 
 
 ***** 
 We bore him to his resting-place, 
 
 AVherc linden trees grow near. 
 And they who walked with him in life 
 All wept around his bier.
 
 VERSES II V A l-ODK MAN. 121 
 
 The words I seem to hear e'en now. 
 
 Read by the holy man 
 With solemn accent — " Tliou hast made 
 
 My days as 'twere a span.' 
 
 I seem to hear the hollow sound, 
 When earth to earth was given, 
 
 And the stifled sobs of friends and kin— 
 For a link of love was riven. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 " The Lord is good to all : and his tender mercies arc over all Iiis 
 works." — Psnlm cxlv. IJ. 
 
 Go, climb the tall mountain — 
 
 Go, sail on the sea — 
 Cjo, visit the fountain, 
 
 The flower, and the tree: [^air 
 
 They will tell thee of God, how the earth and the 
 Are filled with his goodness everywhere. 
 
 Go, cull the sweet roses, 
 
 And mark how they bloom, 
 Where the wild bee reposjs 
 
 Amid their perfume : [air 
 
 They will tell thee of God, how the earth and the 
 Arc filled with his goodness everywhere. 
 I
 
 122 VERSES BY A POOR JIAN. 
 
 On the fair strand of ocean, 
 
 Go, gather the shells, 
 In Avhose ear the commotion 
 
 Of surge-music sMells : [air, 
 
 They will tell thee of God, how earth, ocean, andi 
 Are filled with his goodness everywhere. 
 
 LV. 
 
 THY HOME IS NOT ON EARTH. 
 
 WRITTEN BY THE POOR MAN IN THE AUTIMN. 
 
 The orange tints of Autumn time with hues of 
 
 summer mingle. 
 And the bright green robe of longer days has fled 
 
 the leafy dingle : 
 'Midst the witching strains of music, in the revelry 
 
 of mirth, 
 Foi'get thou not another world — thy home is not 
 
 on earth. 
 
 The yellow leaf is telling thee, it speaks of other 
 
 things 
 Than those of which in tliis vain world the siren 
 
 pleasure sing,s : 
 The eailhly ties of friend-sliip, and the place that 
 
 gave thee birth, 
 
 O I tlioii must leave them all behind — thy home 
 is not on earth.
 
 VERSES liV A roOU .MAN. 123 
 
 The autumn of thy lift; uill coino, all tilings to 
 
 thee uill fade, 
 Save the hope of heaven, vhen in the tomb thy 
 
 cold heart shall be laid : 
 'Midst the witching strains of music, in the revelry 
 
 of mirth, [on earth. 
 
 Forget thou not another world — thy home is not 
 
 The last sad solemn hour of death, when friends 
 
 are w^eeping round thee, 
 Affection's charm must fail thee then, the chains 
 
 must break that bound thee : 
 The earthly ties of friendship, and the spot that 
 
 gave thee birth, 
 O ! thou must leave them all behind — thy home 
 
 is not on earth. 
 
 Her banner has Ambition waved, and stretched 
 
 her sceptre o'er thee ? 
 And hast thou found these dreamy things to vanish 
 
 from before thee ? [riven 
 
 O ! student of the sad pale brow, be thine ambition 
 From earthly things, anil turn thine eye to truth, 
 
 and Christ, and heaven. 
 
 And when thy sunny days are gone, and darker 
 
 years have shed 
 The silvery honours age may claim upon thy 
 
 hoary head
 
 ]24 VERSES BY A POOR MAX. 
 
 O ! may thy retrospective view bring pleasure to 
 
 thy mind, 
 And never be it thine to mourn tlie hours left far 
 
 behind. 
 
 But if, alas ! tliy lot should be, uhcn life is fresh 
 and gay, 
 
 Tliat wliispering spirits of tlie grave should sum- 
 mon thee away ; 
 
 Though loveliest flowers deck thy path, and laurels 
 wreathe thy Ijrow, 
 
 There's nothing save the rank long grass will wa\c 
 o'er thee below. 
 
 Bat the; Autuuui leaves are telling tliee, and, trem- 
 
 L ling as they fall, 
 
 Lie scattered on the cheerless earth, like Nature's 
 
 funeral pall : 
 Then turn tlicf to another world, where seasons 
 
 are unknown, 
 Where sunlight dwells for ever — the glory of the 
 
 throne. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 THE POOR MAN PAINTETU LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 
 
 I saw them in their happiness, 
 Tlieir ])right unclouded glee ; 
 
 I saw the little favourite boy 
 \\'ho elimhed his lather's knee.
 
 VERSKS IIV A rodi; MAN. I --"J 
 
 That they were pious cottagers, 
 
 Was gathered from a glance: 
 For holy thoughts a sunlight give 
 
 Unto the countenance. 
 
 But I had known thcni long before 
 
 As humble and content : 
 And when the curate read the word^ 
 
 To hear the same they went. 
 
 Not only on the Sabbath hours, 
 
 But on a Wednesday, 
 At eve, the Scriptures were explained 
 
 To those wiio went to pray. 
 
 The cottager once said to me — 
 
 " I think it very odd 
 Six days a week to give to man. 
 
 Ami only one to God. 
 
 " I, therefore, and my family 
 
 Conclude that it is right, 
 To give a little tinu^ to (iod 
 
 At every morn and night. 
 
 "I wish you knew tlie happiness 
 
 We find in doing so ; 
 We feel that He is nigh to us, 
 
 Wherever we may go."
 
 126 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 
 
 Long after this, when I had been 
 
 Away a little space, 
 I called to ask them how they were, 
 
 As I was near the place. 
 
 The wife and children I beheld. 
 
 They all were sitting there : 
 But he had not returned it seemed — 
 
 I saw his empty chair. 
 
 The evening meal had been prepared, 
 
 But they did not begin 
 To eat of it — they never did 
 
 Till he himself came in. 
 
 -" I think my father should have come 
 Before (quoth little Harry); 
 
 He went at six o'clock at morn 
 To ilig stones in the quarry." 
 
 This scarce was said, before a lad 
 Came rujining out of breath; 
 
 At lengtli he gasped — " A great big stone 
 Has crushed a man to death I" 
 
 But who it was he would not say — 
 
 In fearful haste we ran : 
 We found it was the cottager, 
 
 The poor ill-fated man.
 
 VKRSES UY A POOR JIAN. 127 
 
 Wc dug him out — a battered licap — 
 His uife sunk ou the ground : 
 
 God I tlie chiklreii's piercing cries, 
 How in my ears they sound. 
 
 Alas ! the widowed mother, and 
 The children every one : 
 
 1 leave von to conceive their grief — 
 
 God's holy will be done ! 
 
 LVII. 
 THE POOR MAN IIHYMKTH ODDLY. 
 Though rhyme is nut my sole vocation, 
 It has my thorough approbation, 
 lilank. verse I r(>;i(l for recreation, 
 But use it upon no occasion ; 
 And though it hiys no obligation 
 Of making sounds of this duration, 
 It is my hearty expectation 
 This rhyme will gain some approbation; 
 Not from its want of deviation, 
 Which may bring some slight indignation, 
 
 But from — its discontiiiuatioii. 
 
 * # * •" 
 
 * * * * 
 
 * * * * 
 
 * * * *
 
 128 VERSES BY A POOR MAX. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 " The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament show- 
 eth his handiwork. 
 
 " Day unto daj'utteroth speech, and night unto night shcweth 
 knowledge. 
 
 " There is no speech nor lang\iage where their voice is not heard. 
 
 " The law of the Lord is perfect, converting the soul: the testi- 
 mony of the Lord is sure, making wise the simple. 
 
 "Tlic statutes of the Lord are right, rejoicing the heart: the 
 oonimandniont of tlic Lord is pure, enlightening the eyes.'' 
 
 P.w?»ixix. 1,2, 3, 7, 8. 
 
 \\']ioii froni the gray church tower, 
 At clay's most soh^nin hour. 
 
 The sound of evening bells in tremulous motion 
 Now sinks, now rises high, 
 As float tlio breezes by, 
 
 Like changing wav(s npoii the azure ocean, 
 "When the sun flings his latest fires 
 Oil distant inouiitain tops and consecrated spires t 
 
 () ! then tlic mind of man 
 Delights afar to scan 
 
 The track of ag( s that have gone before him; 
 And visions of the past 
 C'rovMJ (»ii his nirniory fast. 
 
 And tliiow a spell of drrHiny rajjture o'er him:. 
 Then is tiie moment, the n the hour. 
 To mark religion's course and i'.cl Jier heavenly 
 p('Wcr :
 
 VERSES IIV A ruull MAN. 129 
 
 To watch with eager ej-e 
 
 The flood of time roll by, ["In us, 
 
 And woo those scenes to stay \\ iiose features 
 Until our lips exclaim, 
 Breathing His sacred name, 
 
 " 'Tis the divinity that stirs within us ! 
 And thou, O I Lord, who mad'st the sun, 
 And mooii, and stars, and earth — thy iioly will be 
 done :" 
 
 To see the dewy star 
 In the purple west afar, 
 
 When day is o'er, and twilight dubious lingers — 
 When halcyon stillness reigns 
 O'er darkening hills and plains, 
 
 And night the curtain draws with paly fingers ; 
 To feel there is a (Jod indeed, 
 And with delighted soul his holv word ta rt ad. 
 
 How blest the happy lot 
 Of many a humble cot, 
 
 To see the Sabbath sun ihrough lattice breaking, 
 !And each effulgent rav, 
 That gilds a suniincr day, [big: 
 
 With dazzling tints ins brilliant sky-path streak- 
 To feel there is a Goil indeed, [read. 
 And then in evening time his precious word to
 
 130 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 
 
 All men in summei' hours, 
 When Nature decks her bowers, 
 
 Their great Creator in his works admiring. 
 The life of man should trace 
 In Nature's varied face, 
 
 From cradled infancy to age expiring ; 
 And feel there is a God indeed. 
 And then with fervent joy his holy woi'd should 
 read. 
 
 =0 ! listen to the song 
 
 Yon brandies green among, 
 
 On the hushed air its liquid music pouring ; 
 And think ye not with me 
 That in that melody 
 
 There speaks a placid tone of one adoring ? 
 Certes, there is a God indeed, 
 And in his lioly book with worship we will read. 
 
 Lo ! in tlic crini.suned west, 
 Sinking on ocean's breast. 
 
 Lingers the orl) of day, his journey ended, 
 And on yon lowering cloud, 
 By its own gran<lcm' bowcnl, [did! 
 
 He casts his parting beam — how rich and splen- 
 Yes — Nature points to (iod the Lord, 
 And IkukI in Iiand she goes with his most sacred 
 word.
 
 VERSES IIY A rOOR MAX. 131 
 
 Ye men, whose peaceful life, 
 Remote from popular strife, 
 
 Is spent with nature in your own vocation — 
 Who see her sylvan charms 
 Round villages and farms, 
 
 And pay to God and her your admiration : 
 As are the Father, Holy Spirit, and Son, 
 So are the Bible, God, and Nature — three in one. 
 
 Then bless the Lord of heaven 
 For all that he has given. 
 
 Both rich and poor, wherever ye are dwelling; 
 Let Christian charity. 
 Your constant watchword be. 
 
 And worship nature's God with bosoms swelling. 
 All earth adores Iliui — fountain, flower and bird ; 
 They speak of (Jod to them that love his holy 
 word. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 THE POOR MAN CHIliPS ABOUT INSECTS. 
 
 When I see pretty butterflies flitting 
 By the side of the tangled wild wood, 
 
 I think how we used to chase them 
 In the thoughtless hours of childhood.
 
 132 VERSES BY A TOOR MAX. 
 
 And -when the v.hite ones came out, 
 
 111 the eei'ly morning gray, 
 .We shouted and said, -with glee, 
 
 " No rain would fall that day."' 
 
 And then the red kinds, that love 
 Amons: nettles and thistles to flv — 
 
 How often we ran after them, 
 ]My two little brothers and I. 
 
 And wlicn, at summer twilight hour, 
 We through the fields did pass, 
 
 How oft we watched the large Avhite moth 
 Among the meadow grass. 
 
 You must have seen liim, in the dusk, 
 A small height iVoiu the ground, 
 
 On quick unsteady wings, and ol't 
 Low flitting round a.iid round. 
 
 And w hell we caught the sjieckled nioth^ 
 
 That loves tlic ciiiraiii tree, 
 With black and vellow on its wiii<>s, 
 
 ()! then h(j\v ])h'as(Hl were we. 
 
 • And the sw(H^t little ])ntterHy blue. 
 With wings of a dazzling hue 
 
 So prettily spotted under, 
 In grassy and rushy ground . 
 In sunny hours we found. 
 
 And looked on it with wonder.
 
 VERSES IIV A I'ddK MAX. 133 
 
 The caterpillars that \vc lind 
 
 Feeding on various things — 
 How strange that they at last shoukl change 
 
 To butterflies with wings I 
 
 A little egg at first is laid 
 
 By moths and butterflies, 
 Which changes to a hairy worm, 
 
 And in appearance dies. 
 
 But still the little eoflin, which 
 
 Contains the creature then, 
 Sends forth a moth or l.-utterfly, 
 
 That lays its eggs again. 
 
 They have a resurrection, like 
 
 The future lot of man : 
 God's wisdom is in all his works — 
 
 Disprove it, ye M'ho can. 
 
 They change into a finer form, 
 
 And in the heavens soar; 
 So shall our mortal body Jje 
 
 Transformed, when time is o't-r. 
 
 I well remember, on a day 
 
 In summer's rich decline, 
 I wandered out upon a moor, 
 
 With a healthful, strong dcs'gn
 
 1S4 VERSES BV A POOR MAX. 
 
 Of looking on the wilderness 
 
 Of the luxuriant heather : 
 And I found some pretty eaterpillars, 
 
 Two or three together. 
 
 Their size was large, their colour green,^ 
 
 Most lovely to behold ; 
 With bars of black, on which I saw 
 
 Some tufts of red and gold. 
 
 I worshipped God in that lone spot, 
 
 For He was all around ; 
 There is no place, but in his works, 
 
 If sought, He may be found. 
 
 Oft, too, in leafy lanes, at eve. 
 
 When seeking other things, 
 We saw a host of little moths. 
 
 With brimstone-coloured wings. 
 
 For if you brushed the hawthorn hedge^ 
 
 As late you walked about. 
 Or shook the crowded bushes there, 
 
 These little things came out. 
 
 Nor were we ever gladdened moi'e, 
 Than when the glow-worm's light 
 
 Came faint and pale upon the eye, 
 Through the dun shades of night.
 
 VERSKS IIY A I'OOR MAN. 
 
 We gazed upon that tiny lamp 
 Amongst the grass so green, 
 
 That shone as 'twere the diadem 
 Of some young fairy queen. 
 
 I think I need not say how we 
 Did the brown cockchafer prize, 
 
 With his mealy coat, and plaited horns 
 Coming out beside his eyes. 
 
 But never did we spin him round, 
 
 As some are wont to do ; 
 We only placed Iiim on our thumbs, 
 
 And watched him when he tlew. 
 
 The great dor-beetle, too, 
 Came sailing through the air : 
 
 At eventide 
 
 He takes his ride, 
 When the weather is calm and fair: 
 How he used to come 
 With a sweeping hum, 
 Like a distant drum, 
 
 We scarcely could tell where ! 
 
 In yonder limpid pool, 
 
 In their circling mazes twining. 
 The little beetles swim about. 
 
 In their polished armour shining. 
 
 135
 
 136 VERSES BY A POOIl MAX. 
 
 And then, at times, they dive below. 
 
 Till none at length remain ; 
 While, at a different spot perhaps. 
 
 Some show themselves again. 
 
 Large humble-bees, of divers kinds, 
 Among the blooming flowers. 
 
 Gather sweet hone\ all around, 
 In the light of summer houi's. 
 
 And in the little gardens. 
 Which poor men love to see, 
 
 A hive or two sometimes are kept, 
 Stocked witli the honey bee. 
 
 And when tlie rain-cloud's form is seen 
 
 To rise upon the sky, 
 They leave the balmy wild flowers. 
 
 And to their houses flv. 
 
 Nor shall I e'er forget 
 
 The wasp-nests by the side 
 Of turnpike roads, and deep in banks, 
 
 And how, in warlike pride, 
 
 We marched, with branches in our hands, 
 
 To tight tiiem and destroy : 
 I well ri member how they stung 
 
 Me, when 1 was a boy.
 
 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 137 
 
 And oft when we looked up, 
 
 Upon the evening sky, 
 We saw a multitude of gnats 
 
 Dancing in air on high. 
 
 'TAvas up and down, with seeming joj% 
 
 In the sun's latest beam, 
 They gambolled round, untired and gay, 
 
 Like objects in a dream. 
 
 On warm dry banks and sunny slopes. 
 
 Low sounding far and near, 
 The chirping of the grasshopper 
 
 Smote gaily on the ear. 
 
 We could not walk a yard or two. 
 
 But they would leap before : 
 While others chirped, as if their life 
 
 Would last for evermore. 
 
 But this was in long summer hours. 
 
 And wlien the winter came, 
 The grasshoppers were gone away, 
 
 And nothing looked the same. 
 
 Instead of bounding o'er the heath, 
 
 Amidst their happy song, 
 We heard tlie merry cricket sound 
 
 Its note all winter long. 
 
 K
 
 138 VERSES BY A POOR MAX. 
 
 About the fire, from holes and chinks, 
 They came and sang by dozens. 
 
 Of every size, as if they were 
 Uncles, and aunts, and cousins. 
 
 An ant-nest in some lonely wood. 
 
 Where all is very still, 
 Save sounds of some few living things. 
 
 In form a little hill, 
 
 I oft have found, and have admired 
 
 How, like some busy town, 
 In branching streets the eager ants 
 
 Were hastening up and down. 
 
 And where streamlets flow in the summer sun, 
 And trees bend over them as they run, 
 
 If we look in the clear mid-air. 
 Bright dragon-flies of dazzling hue. 
 Flying about within our view, 
 
 In the feeling of life are there. 
 
 And is there a person a;]i() lias not heard 
 How children delight in the: lady-bird ! 
 The sj)()tted shield of its varnished wing.s — 
 O ! are they not pleased with such \n-vtly 
 things ?
 
 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 
 
 But we must not forget the tly 
 
 In windows frequent seen ; 
 1 seldom missed the sight of it, 
 
 Wherever I have been. 
 
 The house-fly is a common thing, 
 
 It walketh up the glass : 
 Yet I liave often wondered mucli 
 
 How that was brought to pass. 
 
 Ill winter time, in lodging rooms, 
 When servants make a rout, 
 
 Or light a fire to warm the place, 
 These flies come buzzing out. 
 
 The house-fly ! the house-fly ! 
 
 It is a friend of mine ; 
 It loves to be where summer suns 
 
 And winter fagots shine. 
 
 Then praise God for these living things 
 
 Of interest and beauty ; 
 And let us, in our several ways. 
 
 Like them, perform our duty. 
 
 139
 
 140 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 
 
 LX. 
 
 THE POOR MAN SPEAKETH TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 
 
 Young people, I pray you, be circumspect 
 
 In choosing your society ; 
 And keep aloof from riotous men. 
 
 And such as love impiety. 
 
 When plagues and fevers are going about, 
 
 You try to avoid infection ; 
 And yet you run, with a headlong course, 
 
 Into some vile connexion. 
 
 But as the bright and immortal soul 
 Than the body is far more precious. 
 
 So ought we to keep that heavenly gift 
 From all that is bad and vicious. 
 
 And do not stain the young innocent heart 
 
 With any improper reading : 
 But as you like victuals to be of the best. 
 
 Do the same when the mind is feeding. 
 
 Accustom your thoughts evermore to thing.>^ 
 That are worthy of contemplation ; 
 
 For this, with help from above, is the way 
 To keep you out of temptation.
 
 VERSES BY A POOR MAN. 141 
 
 Young people, choose good companions, I pray, 
 For be sure that he who neglects it, [men, 
 
 And reads wicked books, and is found with bad 
 Will at last have a mournful exit. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 THE POOR MAN SPEAKETH TO ALL OTHER POOR MEN 
 ABOUT THE DISTRESS OF THE TIMES. 
 
 The poor man speaks to all the poor, 
 
 And feels for their distress : 
 He trusts that they will listen to 
 
 Their brother's plain address. 
 
 When trade is bad and wages low, 
 
 And poor men are distressed. 
 Do not permit dark Discontent 
 
 To come and be your guest. 
 
 Surely, when things are bad enough, 
 W^e need not make them worse : 
 
 Our poverty is hard to bear, 
 But discontent's a curse. 
 
 And when your means are very small, 
 
 Be careful how you spend : 
 Frugality has ever been 
 
 The poor man's faithful friend.
 
 1 42 VERSES BY A POOR MAX. 
 
 And never drown the human mind 
 Within the drunkard's bowl ; 
 
 Nor yet give place to idleness, 
 That canker of the soul. 
 
 Be true to God, and to the Queen, 
 
 And to your native land ; 
 And, when the times are pressing, still 
 Go peaceful hand in hand. 
 
 Let all the poor be truly kind. 
 
 Each one to every other, 
 And always lend a helping hand 
 
 To every honest brother. 
 
 And well I know, if we are good, 
 Though poor and low Ave be, 
 
 The rich will try to ease the load 
 Of suffering poverty. 
 
 And, what is more, the Lord himself, 
 As in " the Book" we read. 
 
 Will strengthen us upon our bed. 
 And help us in our need. 
 
 We poor men heartily commit 
 Ourselves, good Lord, to thee : 
 
 Thou wilt not leave the poor that walks 
 In his integrity.
 
 VERSES BY A POOR MAX. ] 4.'^ 
 
 LXII. 
 
 THE POOR MAN'S FAREWELL TO THE 
 READER. 
 
 Reader, farewell ! with wishes good 
 
 I grasp thy liand in mine : 
 And may the flowers of happiness 
 
 Around thy heart entwine, 
 
 Forming a holy wreath of joy, 
 
 Tliat never will decay, 
 But bloom in all its glory when 
 
 The world has passed away. 
 
 And if a single solemn thought, 
 
 Or happy hour be given 
 To thee, from reading in my book, 
 
 I bless the Lord of heaven. 
 
 W. E. I'A INTER, 342, bTUA.Nl), LONDON, i'UlNTEH.
 
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