402 THE MORAL WANT. 



All this may be, yet does not reach 



The canker of our state ; 

 Where may we seek a learned leech, 



This gangrene to abate ? 

 This moral callousness that lets 



Wild famine stalk the streets ; 

 That lacks of pity and forgets 



The cry despair repeats ? 

 That lets the ever-stinted cup, 



Of genius flow with gall ; 

 This system that holds blockheads up, 



While men of talent fall ? 



O, dear and deep the debt to them 



Who dig the mental mine, 

 Who give a facit to the gem 



Of wit their souls enshrine ! 

 Their toil is not like others toil 



'Tis the world's vital air, 

 And time forbears their work to spoil, 



If genius cry " Forbear !" 

 A little while some brief applause, 



Sustains their spirits' fires ; 

 But let the child of genius pause, 



His fame ere him expires. 

 The eager multitude demand, 



New gifts with cravings rude, 

 In vain he lifts a palsy'd hand, 



And murmurs-gratitude. 

 Exhausted powers still keep their pride ; 



The strengthless man's worst woe 

 Is that he cannot stem the tide, 



Not that he sinks below. 

 He perishes with pangs untold 



The freightage of his mind 

 For insufficient bread he sold, 



That that he leaves behind. 

 And time and truth the record keep, 



Of all the wrongs he bore ; 

 But who, 'mid all that feign to weep, 



Cry, "Let us sin no more !" 



* 



Success alone finds sympathy ; 



No faults are heeded then ; 

 But failure brands with black distress, 



A monster among men : 

 He sits unheeded at his hearth, 



Uncheer'd by friend or fire ; 

 He treads an uncompanion'd path, 



Till all life's hopes expire. 

 He finds a grave perchance a tear 



Yes, some will dew his pall, 

 Who feel if there was mercy here, 



Or justice, none need fall! 



LbW. 



