Page:Poems Baldwin.djvu/57

I cannot blame the poor for toiling on,
When day, with all its vigour, long has gone.
The honest purpose to fulfil their task,
Or gain the price necessity must ask,
May bind them to their labour by the light
That "goes not out" through all the weary night.
A blessing rests upon them, and the stain
Of sordid avarice can not remain.
Love for a wife or kindred makes it right,
And sanctifies the labour. Moral light
Beams on the sacrifice. The soul is free
To place its hopes beyond the world we see!

I will not paint scenes of a diff'rent kind,
Where sad ebriety defiles the mind;
Where every thought of God or good is lost,
And idle souls in folly's whirl are toss'd!

But I would in this hour behold and see
If wealth and grandeur are from sorrow free;
If gold can purchase friendship, joy, or ease,
(Tis seldom riches all alone can please:
The heart, the mind, require more than these.)

There is a mansion—but I will not paint
A splendour where description would be faint.
There all that can fastidious fancy please
Graces within; and flowers and sunny trees