The Quiet Mind

Though low my lot, my wish is won,
My hopes are few and staid;
All I thought life would do is done,
The last request is made.
If I have foes, no foes I fear,
To fate I live resigned;
I have a friend I value here,
And that's a quiet mind.

I wish not it was mine to wear
Flushed Honour's sunny crown;
I wish not I were Fortune's heir —
She frowns, and let her frown:
I have no taste for pomp and strife,
Which others love to find:
I only wish the bliss of life —
A poor and quiet mind.

The trumpet's taunt in battle-field,
The great man's pedigree, —
What peace can all their honours yield?
And what are they to me?
Though praise and pomp, to eke the strife,
Rave like a mighty wind,
What are they to the calm of life —
A still and quiet mind?

I mourn not that my lot is low,
I wish no higher state,
I sigh not that Fate made me so,
Nor teaze her to be great.
I am content — for well I see
What all at last shall find,
That life's worst lot the best may be,
If that's a quiet mind.

I see the world pass heedless by,
And pride above me tower;
It costs me not a single sigh
For either wealth or power:
They are but men, and I'm a man
Of quite as great a kind, —
Proud too that life gives all she can,
A calm and quiet mind.

I never mocked at Beauty's shrine,
To stain her lips with lies;
No knighthood's fame or luck was mine,
To win Love's richest prize;
And yet I've found in russet weed,
What all will wish to find,
True love — and comfort's prize indeed,
A glad and quiet mind.

And come what will of care or woe,
As some must come to all,
I'll wish not that they were not so,
Nor mourn that they befall: