A SONG FOR THE MILLION. You all know the burden that hangs to my song, Like the bell of St. Paul's, 'tis a common ding-dong; I don't go to College for classical tools, For Apollo has now set up National Schools. Oh! mine is a theme you can chant when you may, Fit for every age and for every day; And if rich folks say, "Poor folks, don't give yourselves airs!" Bid them "Trouble their heads with their own affairs." Oh! how hard it appears to leave others alone, And those with most sin often cast the first stone; What missiles we scatter wherever we pass, Though our own walls are formed of most delicate glass. Let the wise one in "Nature's walk" pause ere he shoot At scampering Folly in harlequin suit; He'd find "motley," no doubt, in what he himself wears, If he'd "Trouble his head with his own affairs." Our acquaintance stand up with reproving advice, Where the friend of our soul would be sparingly nice; But people will see their own farthing-dip shine, Though they stick it right under a gunpowder mine. Faults and errors choke up like a snow-storm, I ween, But we each have a door of our own to sweep clean; And 'twould save us a vast many squabbles and cares, If we'd "Trouble our heads with our own affairs." The "Browns" spend the bettermost part of the day In watching the "Greens," who live over the way; They know about this, and they know about that, And can tell Mr. Green when he has a new hat. Mrs. Brown finds that Mrs. Green's never at home, Mrs. Brown doubts how Mrs. Green's money can come; And Mrs. Brown's youngest child tumbles down stairs, Through not "Troubling her head with her own affairs." Mr. Figgins, the grocer, with sapient frown, Is forsaking the counter to go to "the Crown:" With his grog and his politics, mighty and big; He raves like a Tory, or swears like a Whig: He discusses the Church, Constitution, and State, Till his creditors also get up a debate; And a "plum" of rich colour is lost to his heirs Through not "Troubling his head with his own affairs!" Let a symptom of wooing and wedding be found, And full soon the impertinent whisper goes round: The fortune, the beauty, the means, and the ends; Are all carefully weighed by our good-natured friends. 'Tis a chance if the lady is perfectly right; She must be a flirt, if she is not a fright; Oh, how pleasant 'twould be if the meddlesome bears Would but "Trouble their heads with their own affairs!" We are busy in helping the far-away slave,- We must cherish the Pole, for he's foreign and brave; Our alms-giving record is widely unrolled- To the east and the west we send mercy and gold: But methinks there are those in our own famous land Whose thin cheeks might be fattened by Charity's hand; And when John Bull is dealing his generous shares, Let him "Trouble his head with his own affairs." We abuse without limit the heretic one While he bends to the image, or kneels to the sun; We must interfere with all other men's creeds, From the Brahmin's white bull to the Catholic's beads: But Heaven, like Rome, may have many a road That leads us direct to the wished-for abode; And a wise exhortation, in Christian prayers, Would be-"Trouble your head with your own affairs ." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MOTHER HEART by NELLIE COOLEY ALDER ROAD AND HILLS by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET TO A YOUNG LADY WHO ASKED ME TO WRITE SOMETHING ORIGINAL FOR HER ALBUM by THOMAS CAMPBELL BARBARA IN THE MEADOW by ALICE CARY PROVERB: 1 by GEOFFREY CHAUCER HARPS HUNG UP IN BABYLON by ARTHUR WILLIS COLTON AT A HALL-ROOM WINDOW by THOMAS AUGUSTINE DALY A FAMILIAR EPISTLE; WITH A LIFE OF THE LATE INGENIOUS MR. WM. HOGARTH by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON |