All common good has common price;
Exceeding good, exceeding;
Christ bought the keys of Paradise
By cruel bleeding;
And every soul that wins a place
Upon its hills of pleasure,
Must give it all, and beg for grace
To fill the measure.
Up the broad stairs that Value rears
Stand motives beck'ning earthward,
To summon men to nobler spheres,
And lead them worthward.
JOSIAH GILBERT HOLLAND.
*
THE LABORER.
Stand up—erect! Thou hast the form
And likeness of thy God!—Who more?
A soul as dauntless 'mid the storm
Of daily life, a heart as warm
And pure, as breast e'er wore.
What then?—Thou art as true a man
As moves the human mass among;
As much a part of the great plan
That with creation's dawn began,
As any of the throng.
Who is thine enemy? The high
In station, or in wealth the chief?
The great, who coldly pass thee by,
With proud step and averted eye?
Nay! nurse not such belief.
If true unto thyself thou wast,
What were the proud one's scorn to thee?
A feather which thou mightest cast