Praise

Ah, who shall Praise receive
And not profane her?
Fool were I to believe,
Churl to disdain her!

Praise is the kindly love
Of all a nation,
Lifting the man above
His lower station.
Praise is a mortal hate;
In blood, not money.
He pays who takes the bait,
Swallows the honey.

Imperial renown,
How may I win thee?
Praise me, and I shall own
The strength of ten within me.

Praise me, and I shall sink
In shallow water;
Folly upon the brink,
Vanity's daughter!

Alone they safely trod
The flowery mazes
Who loved the praise of God
More than man's praises.