Part 11
It don’t hurt them a bit, For they can’t practise it; But it’s our great joy and pride— What virtue have we beside? We believe, as sure as we live, That it is more blessed to give Than to want, and waste, and grieve, And occasionally receive! And here are the people pressing To rob us of our pet blessing! No chance to endow or bedizen A hospital, school, or prison, And leave our own proud name To Gratitude and Fame! No chance to do one good deed, To give what we do not need, To leave what we cannot use To those whom we deign to choose! When none want broken meat, How shall our cake be sweet? When none want flannels and coals, How shall we save our souls? Oh, dear! Oh, dear! The Christian virtues will disappear!
The poor have their virtues rude,— Meekness and gratitude, Endurance, and respect For us, the world’s elect; Economy, self-denial, Patience in every trial, Self-sacrifice, self-restraint,— Virtues enough for a saint! Virtues enough to bear All this life’s sorrow and care! Virtues by which to rise To a front seat in the skies! How can they turn from this To common earthly bliss,— Mere clothes, and food, and drink, And leisure to read and think, And art, and beauty, and ease,— There is no crown for these! True, if their gratitude Were not for fire and food, They might still learn to bless The Lord for their happiness! And, instead of respect for wealth, Might learn from beauty, and health, And freedom in power and pelf, Each man to respect himself! And, instead of scraping and saving, Might learn from using and having That man’s life should be spent In a grand development! But this is petty and small; These are not virtues at all; They do not look as they should; They don’t do _us_ any good! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! The Christian virtues will disappear!
WHAT’S THAT?
I met a little person on my land, A-fishing in the waters of my stream; He seemed a man, yet could not understand Things that to most men very simple seem.
“Get off!” said I; “this land is mine, my friend! Get out!” said I; “this brook belongs to me! I own the land, and you must make an end Of fishing here so free.
“I own this place, the land and water too! You have no right to be here, that is flat! Get off it! That is all I ask of you!—” “Own it?” said he; “what’s that?”
“What’s that?” said I, “why, that is common sense! I own the water and the fishing right; I own the land from here to yonder fence; Get off, my friend, or fight!”
He looked at the clear stream so neatly kept; He looked at teeming vine and laden tree, And wealthy fields of grain that stirred and slept; “I see!” he cried, “I see!
“You mean you cut the wood and plowed the field, From your hard labor all this beauty grew, To you is due the richness of the yield; You have some claim, ’tis true.”
“Not so,” said I, with manner very cool, And tossed my purse into the air and caught it; “Do I look like a laborer, you fool? It’s mine because I bought it!”
Again he looked as if I talked in Greek, Again he scratched his head and twirled his hat, Before he mustered wit enough to speak. “Bought it?” said he, “what’s that?”
And then he said again, “I see! I see! You mean that some men toiled with plows and hoes, And while those worked for you, you toiled with glee At other work for those.”
“Not so!” said I, getting a little hot, Thinking the man a fool as well as funny; “I’m not a working-man, you idiot; I bought it with my money!”
And still that creature stared and dropped his jaw, Till I could have destroyed him where he sat. “Money,” said I, “money, and moneyed law!” “Money?” said he, “what’s that?”
AN ECONOMIST.
The serene savage sitting in his tree Saw empires rise and fall, And moralized on their uncertainty. (He never rose at all!)
He was full fat from god-sent droves of prey; He was full calm from satisfied desire; He was full wise in that he chose to stay Free from ambition’s fire.
“See,” quoth the savage, “how they toil and strive To make things better,—vain and idle wish! Here is good store of what keeps man alive, Of fruit, and flesh, and fish.
“Poor discontented wretches, fed on air, Seeking to change the normal lot of man, To lure him from this natural strife and care, With vague Utopian plan!
“Here’s wealth and joy—why seek for any change? Why labor for a more elaborate life? As if God could not his own world arrange Without our fretful strife!
“Those who complain of savagery as low Are merely proven lazy, and too weak To live by skilful hunt and deadly blow; It is their needs that speak.
“Complain of warfare! Cry that peace is sweet! Complain of hunting! Prate of toil and trade! It only proves that they cannot compete In the free life we’ve made.”
Another empire reeled into its grave; The savage sat serenely as before, As calm and wise, as cunning and as brave— Never an atom more.
CHARITY.
Came two young children to their mother’s shelf (One was quite little, and the other big), And each in freedom calmly helped himself. (One was a pig.)
The food was free and plenty for them both, But one was rather dull and very small; So the big smarter brother, nothing loath, He took it all.
At which the little fellow raised a yell Which tired the other’s more æsthetic ears; He gave him here a crust, and there a shell To stop his tears.
He gave with pride, in manner calm and bland, Finding the other’s hunger a delight; He gave with piety—his full left hand Hid from his right.
He gave and gave—O blessed Charity! How sweet and beautiful a thing it is! How fine to see that big boy giving free What is not his!
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling. 2. Anachronistic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed. 3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.
End of Project Gutenberg's In this our world, by Charlotte Perkins Gilman