Classic Poem

You may boast of jewels, — coronets, —
Ermine, — purple, all you can:
There is that within them nobler; —
Something that we call — A Man!
Something all the rest surpassing:
As the flower is to the sod;
As to man is high archangel;
As is to archangel — God!

Running o'er with tears and weakness;
Flaming like a mountain fire;
Racked by hate and hateful passions;
Tossed about by wild desire;
There is, still, within him, (mingled
With each fault that dims or mars,)
Truth, and Pity, — Virtue, — Courage, —
Thoughts, — that fly beyond the stars!

You, who prize the book's poor paper,
Above its thoughts of joy and pain;
You who love the cloud's bright vapour,
More than its soul, — the blessing, rain;
Take the gems, the crowns, the ermine;
Use them nobly, if you can:
But give us — (in rags or purple),
The true, warm, strong Heart of Man.