God made me poor — am I to blame?
And shall I bow my head
As though it were some dreadful shame
I had inherited?
Shall I among the rich and great
Like trembling culprit stand,
Or like obedient servant wait
To do their least command?
And when they pass me by in scorn —
As they have often done,—
Shall I regret that I was born
An humble farmer's son?
No! should it ever cause a sigh
This were indeed a shame;
For all unworthy then were I
To bear my father's name.
I'll pay to all the homage due
Whatever rank they hold;
But to my manhood ever true,
I will not bow to gold,