The Man of Ross

When fops and fools together prate,
O'er punch or tea, of this or that,
What silly poor unmeaning chat
Does all their talk engross!
A nobler theme employs my lays,
And thus my honest voice I raise
In well-deserved strains to praise
The worthy Man of Ross.

His lofty soul (would it were mine!)
Scorns every selfish, low design,
And ne'er was known to repine,
At any earthly loss:
But still contented, frank, and free,
In every state, whate'er it be,
Serene and staid we always see
The worthy Man of Ross.

Let misers hug their worldly store,
And gripe and pinch to make it more;
Their gold and silver's shining ore
He counts it all but dross:
'Tis better treasure he desires;
A surer stock his passion fires,
And mild benevolence inspires
The worthy Man of Ross.

When want assails the widow's cot,
Or sickness strikes the poor man's hut,
When blasting winds or foggy rot
Augment the farmer's loss:
The sufferer straight knows where to go,
With all his wants and all his woe;
For glad experience leads him to
The worthy Man of Ross.

This Man of Ross I 'll daily sing,
With vocal note and lyric string,
And duly, when I 've drank the king,
He 'll be my second toss.
May Heaven its choicest blessings send
On such a man, and such a friend;
And still may all that 's good attend
The worthy Man of Ross.

Now, if you ask about his name,
And where he lives with such a fame,
Indeed, I 'll say you are to blame,
For truly, inter nos,
'Tis what belongs to you and me,
And all of high or low degree,
In every sphere to try to be
The worthy Man of Ross.