Classic Poem

Rather be thou my counsellor and friend,
Good man, though poor, whose treasure with thy heart
Is stored and set upon that better part,
Choice of thy wisdom, without waste or end,
And full of profits that to pleasures tend:
How cheerful is thy face, how glad thou art!
Using the world with all its bounteous store
Of richest blessings, comforts, loves, and joys,
Which thine all-healthy hunger prizeth more
Than the gorged fool whom sinful surfeit cloys;
Still, not fogetful of thy nobler self,
The breath divine within thee, — but with care
Cherishing the faint spark that glimmereth there,
Nor by Brazilian slavery to pelf
Plunging thy taper into poison'd air.