PEDIGREE."What's in a name?"
Ere I can grant the boon you ask,
And aid you in your gentle task;
I first must weave the magic spell,
Which brings a draught from Truth's deep well.
And aid you in your gentle task;
I first must weave the magic spell,
Which brings a draught from Truth's deep well.
To me, fame, honor, pedigree,
Seem but like leaves on yonder tree,
They bud and flourish, fade and die,
Then in one common grave they lie.
Seem but like leaves on yonder tree,
They bud and flourish, fade and die,
Then in one common grave they lie.
The stately oak—the forest king,
In whose green boughs the robins sing;
The flowering shrub, whose branches wave
In fragrance o'er the tiniest grave:
In whose green boughs the robins sing;
The flowering shrub, whose branches wave
In fragrance o'er the tiniest grave:
All, all are equal in His sight,
Who only sees the Wrong and Right;
Condemns the first, the last approves,
Oft chiding most where most He loves.
Who only sees the Wrong and Right;
Condemns the first, the last approves,
Oft chiding most where most He loves.
