Could I bespeak for each dear one
The choicest gift beneath the sun,
I should not ask for human praise
For talents rare, nor length of days,
Nor lofty birth, nor high estate,
Nor anything that men call great.
The boon I'd ask kings cannot buy,
Nor warmest love of friends supply,
Nor all the gems Golconda yields,
Nor output of Alaskan fields.
In college balls it is not taught,
By king or prince 'tis seldom sought,
It dwelleth not in sword nor pen,
Its home is in the minds of men.
It makes life's spring-time pure and gay,
It cheers its winter, cold and gray,
Esteems far more than fame or gold,
The heart and tongue by truth controlled.
It makes life's spring-time pure and gay,
It cheers its winter, cold and gray,
Esteems far more than fame or gold,
The heart and tongue by truth controlled.
It makes us strong to do and dare,
What can't be helped it helps us bear.
It bids us walk in wisdom's way,
And flee the coming wrath to-day,
And heeds Charles Kingsley's warning strain
"We shall not pass this way again."
And now, mon ami, have you guessed
What 'tis I would that all possessed?
That trusty guide, misleading none,
That choicest gift beneath the sun,
That "Maiden fair without pretense,"
Is pure and simple Common sense.