What riches have you that you deem me poor, Or what large comfort that you call me sad? Tell me what makes you so exceeding glad: Is your earth happy or your heaven sure? I hope for heaven, since the stars endure And bring such tidings as our fathers had. I know no deeper doubt to make me mad, I need no brighter love to keep me pure. To me the faiths of old are daily bread; I bless their hope, I bless their will to save, And my deep heart still meaneth what they said. It makes me happy that the soul is brave, And, being so much kinsman to the dead, I walk contented to the peopled grave. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN THIS DARK HOUSE by EDWARD DAVISON ULTIMA VERITAS by WASHINGTON GLADDEN MY LADY'S PLEASURE by ROBERT GRAHAM THE STORY OF AUGUSTUS WHO WOULD NOT HAVE ANY SOUP by HEINRICH HOFFMANN A DECANTER OF MADEIRA, AGED 86, TO GEORGE BANCROFT, AGED 86 by SILAS WEIR MITCHELL SACRIFICE by GEORGE WILLIAM RUSSELL |