Let millions give worship to riches and wealth, That gay in their brilliancy sparkle and gleam, And serve with the hands of their happiest health The haughty who idle and revel and dream; In hall or in hamlet, in cottage or cave, Or sickened with sorrow or maddened with mirth, There's none I shall serve with the will of a slave But the farmer, the lord and the king of the earth. Let poets in praises heart-swelling and sweet With rapture that rises in beautiful song, Make sages immortal and ages replete With hundreds of heroes who wrestled the wrong; All honest men well from the Muses may claim The numbers that murmur to merit and worth, And so I would fold in the mantles of fame The farmer, the lord and the king of the earth. Let orators over the deeds of the great Re-echo the tributes of tenderest praise, And over the ashes that slumber in state Let peoples their marbles and monuments raise; But I, from the frenzied applauses uncouth, To those who are chained in the bondage of birth, Would flee to surround with the lilies of truth The farmer, the lord and the king of the earth. Let hearts that are grateful in gratitude crown The friend of the many and foe of the few; Let souls in their secret admiring enthrone Whatever a martyr or minion may do; But down in my bosom while reasonings reign, Of friendship and love there is never a dearth For him who is toiling in pleasure or pain, The farmer, the lord and the king of the earth. "NATURE HAS A THOUSAND CHOIRS." Nature has a thousand choirs Singing in the sylvan shadows, And the music of her lyres Echoes in the merry meadows; Always glad with golden glee Sounds her happy melody, Swelling wild in fairy measure With the songs of purest pleasure. Where the dancing fountains play Winding warbles shake and shiver, And soft carols rise alway From the ripples of the river; Sweetest voices fondly call From the fleecy waterfall, And the joyful chimes are creeping Where the lovely lake is sleeping. Raptures echo in the wood, Where the pimpernel reposes; Gladness fills the solitude Where the blushes kiss the roses; Sunny beam and somber gloom Utter hymns from bowers of bloom, Where the vernal winds are crying And the vocal birds are flying. O'er the smiling scenes of earth Nature throws no sullen weather; All her soul is full of mirth, Song and springtime walk together; For the harps of happy days Wake the woodlands with their lays, And where lilies white are springing Gentle melodies are ringing. O, wild Nature, from thy soul Fill the human hearts with gladness, Till their lives shall gladly troll Songs that banish all their sadness! Bathe their breasts with songs of love From the Edens found above, Till their lips shall sing the story Of their happiness and glory! THE WORKINGMAN.