And if the homage that he sometimes found, New to the country lad, conveyed in smiles, Assents, and silent listenings when he spoke, Threatened yet more his life's simplicity; An antidote of nature ever came, Even nature's self. For, in the summer months, His former haunts and boyhood's circumstance Received him back within old influences. And he, too noble to despise the past, Too proud to be ashamed of manhood's toil, Too wise to fancy that a gulf lay wide Betwixt the labouring hand and thinking brain, Or that a workman was no gentleman, Because a workman, clothed himself again In his old garments, took the hoe or spade, Or sowing sheet, or covered in the grain, Smoothing with harrows what the plough had ridged. With ever fresher joy he hailed the fields, Returning still with larger powers of sight: Each time he knew them better than before, And yet their sweetest aspect was the old. His labour kept him true to life and fact, Casting out worldly judgments, false desires, And vain distinctions. Ever, at his toil, New thoughts arose; which, when still night awoke, He ever sought, like stars, with instruments; By science, or by wise philosophy, Bridging the gulf between them and the known; And thus preparing for the coming months, When in the time of snow, old Scotland's sons Reap wisdom in the silence of the year. His sire was proud of him; and, most of all, Because his learning did not make him proud. A wise man builds not much upon his lore. The neighbours asked what he would make his son. "I'll make a man of him," the old man said; "And for the rest, just what he likes himself. But as he is my only son, I think He'll keep the old farm joined to the old name; And I shall go to the churchyard content, Leaving my name amongst my fellow men, As safe, thank God, as if I bore it still." But sons are older than their sires full oft In the new world that cometh after this. So four years long his life went to and fro Betwixt the scarlet gown and rough blue coat; The garret study and the wide-floored barn; The wintry city, and the sunny fields. In each his quiet mind was well content, Because he was himself, where'er he was.