As the limpid stream, which flows
O'er a bed of golden sand,
All its shining treasure shows,
Tempting the beholder's hand;

So the honest heart is seen,
In the mild expanded eye,
In the open generous mien
Of the man of probity.

In the honest heart abide,
Truth with undeluding tongue,
Faith that never warps aside,
Thoughts which never mean a wrong.

Who, such treasure to possess,
Feels not friendship's warm desire?
Who the friendship will not bless
Glowing with so pure a fire?

In that ever trusty breast,
I with confidence repose,
Secret as the house of rest,
All my triumphs, all my woes.

But alas! what happy clime
Is for men of truth renown'd?
Where, in all the walks of time,
Was the precious blessing found?

False and selfish, ev'ry one
Seeks his brother to deceive;
False the smile, and false the groan,
They are cheated who believe.

God of truth, the lying phrase,
Of dissembling lips, to thee
Hateful is; thou lov'st the ways
Of the man of probity.