Page:Poems (Fields)-1.djvu/22

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THE POST OF HONOR.
Virtue's assassin, slander's bosom friend,No verse of mine can flatter or commend.The humblest muse should claim the honest line,And swing no censer at corruption's shrine;Unmoved by fear, should act no traitor's part,Wear on her face the dial of her heart,And dash aside, no matter who may holdThe poisoned chalice, though 't were made of gold.Truth, ever sacred, counts that victory shameWhich clarions meanness to a world's acclaim;Scorns the proud wretch who plays the fatal dart,But, while he dallies, drives it to the heart;Shuns the weak fool, whose eager gaze descriesHis neighbor's faults with telescopic eyes;Believes high rogues, though clad in jewels brave,Should run the gantlet with the shabbiest knave,—While Honor's Post should be for him secureWho lets in sunshine at the poor man's door.
 Unchanging Power! thy genius still presidesO'er vanquished fields, and ocean's purpled tides;
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