Classic Poem

1.

While eager faces at his door
Still bid the cripple welcome home;
How bless'd is Tom, though blind and poor,
And forc'd, in age, to beg and roam!
But John, though young, is curs'd with cares
Which biggen as his years encrease;
And home prepares for his grey hairs
The forest's gloom, without its peace!

2.

While wranglers curse John's race and name,
His father's grave, his sister's plea;
To soothe Tom's heart, kind words proclaim
The gentle looks he cannot see;
And still his dog will lead the blind,
To hear his tale, his daughter bend;
Nor shall her father live, to find
That faithful dog his only friend.

3.

On John his liveried menials wait,
As pompous plumes wave o'er the dead;
He dines in state, and oft on plate,
But still with aching heart and head:
Tom smiles and pines, yet sometimes dines
Where angels have their house of call,
And God his feast for fowl and beast
Spreads, in their common banquet-hall.

4.

But John's full board no feast affords;
He turns his much to more, in vain;
For household-fiends their cruel words
Still sharpen on his heart and brain:
Deep in his shuddering soul they plant
White-blossom'd sorrow's root unbless'd;
While, envying blindness, age, and want,
He woos the worm, and longs for rest.