Classic Poem

T HERE'S a gospel that I fain would preach as to the manner born,
To all ye sons of wretchedness from temperate regions torn;
As upon the torrid isthmus, heat-oppressed and fever-worn,
We still are living on!

'Tis an oft-repeated message, will ye never give it heed?
Ninety times and nine tho' it hath failed, the hundredth may succeed;
So let's print and post and blazon it, that he who runs may read,
While we're still living on!

Speak lightly not of any man, and guard your neighbor's fame;
For others prize as you may prize a fair, unsullied name;
And while criticising others' gaits, you may yourself be lame!
While we're still living on!

An honest man's an honest man until he's proved a thief;
Never yet was lasting happiness built on another's grief;
Let us bear in mind of Graces three that Charity is chief,
While we're still living on!

Thus, in our brief existence in this land of sudden death,
We may breathe, perchance, when day is done, a self-contented breath;
And more calmly view the angel when toward us he wandereth!
While we're still living on!