God made me poor—am I to blame?
And shall I bow my head
As though it were some dreadful shame
I had inherited?
Shall I among the rich and great
Like trembling culprit stand,
Or like obedient servant wait
To do their least command?
And when they pass me by in scorn—
As they have often done,—
Shall I regret that I was born
An humble farmer's son?
No! should it ever cause a sigh
This were indeed a shame;
For all unworthy then were I
To bear my father's name.
I'll pay to all the homage due
Whatever rank they hold;
But to my manhood ever true,
I will not bow to gold,