Daniel Read - Stonington - текст песни (слова)

I.
 My Lord, forbear to call him blessed
 That only boasts a large estate,
 Should all the treasures of the west
 Meet, and conspire to make him great.
 I know thy better thoughts; I know
 Thy reason can't descend so low.
 Let a broad stream with golden sands
 Through all his meadows roll,
 He's but a wretch, with all his lands,
 That wears a narrow soul.
 
 II.
 He swells amidst his wealthy store,
 And, proudly posing what he weighs,
 In his own scale he fondly lays
 Huge heaps of shining ore.
 He spreads the balance wide, to hold
 His manors and his farms,
 And cheats the beam with loads of gold
 He hugs between his arms.
 So might the plow-boy climb a tree,
 When Croesus mounts his throne,
 And both stand up, and smile to see
 How long their shadow's grown.
 Alas! How vain their fancies be,
 To think that shape their own!
 
 III.
 Thus, mingled still with wealth and state,
 Croesus himself can never know;
 His true dimensions and his weight
 Are far inferior to their show.
 Were I so tall to reach the pole,
 Or grasp the ocean with my span,
 I must be measured by my soul:
 The mind's the standard of the man.  
False Greatness