Classic Poem

Buying and selling, casting up accounts—
Each day the same, the same—so runs my story.
And all that I may live! To this amounts
The sum of all my glory.

I scorn my petty hopes, my vulgar fears,
And cry for something worthier to grapple.
Yet Newton traced the law that rules the spheres—
Not scorn'd the falling apple.

So, in our little dealings, humble trades,
Our small besetting cares, our simplest duty,
We trace the all of Right, the golden threads
Of everlasting Beauty.

The rude work finish'd, reckon'd nothing worth,
And closed the bargain of the lowliest vendor—
Lowly and rude put off their garbs of earth,
And on their robes of splendour.