Well, I have wrought in many ways,
A humble workman, day and night;
My wages, partly it was praise,
And part was metal round and bright.
Whate'er I got of yellow gains,
'Tis gone—all spent! and I am poor:
But what I earned of praise remains,
And of one loving heart I'm sure.
This is the sum of all my toil:
A name—a pleasing shape of sound—
While thou art rich in stocks and soil,
Fat acres of unmeasured ground.
Yet, Dives! think not I would change
This poverty and soul of mine
For all the lands where widely range
Thy herds of unrecorded kine.
Since all thy fortune could not buy
My spirits, or thy footman's health,
Or bribe thy lowly tenant nigh
To bid God's blessing on thy wealth.
And I, blithe beggar as I seem,
Am rich in friendships, though but few;
Nor comes there to disturb my dream
The nightly fiend that troubles you.