What He Missed

He lived and died and never knew
What deed of splendor he could do.
He never had to work for bread
Nor plan of save to get ahead
He never had to set his hand
Gainst stubborn clay of shifting sand.
Or venture all on one last pitch,
Because his father left him rich.

He watched men building and he oft
Wished that he too, might climb aloft
And swing steel girders into place
And do it with such skill and grace.
He looked at countless busy men
Going to work and home again.
And wondered what he might have done
Had he been born a poor man's son.

He had no debt he couldn't pay,
No want he couldn't fill each day;
No goal to strive for; non to fight;
No need to test his skill or might.
He walked with men and never knew
Wether his hands their work could do.
And yet in secrecy he yearned
"To know the joy of something earned.

Men frown on poverty, and yet
"Tis wealth which should their scorning get,
For them rings out life's battle song,
Theirs are the conquests,
Theirs the thrill
Of testing brawn and brain and skill,
Wealth dulls the tools and rusts the pen
But poverty produces men.

Author Unknown Found In My Grand Mothers Things