English poem
The Echo, Song CXXXIII
by Anonymous
A SONG, a song, is the cry of mankind, All know what to singing belongs; 'Tis interest governs us all you will find, And gives us the pitch of our songs.
The miser with riches, who's never content, Can tell what is right or is wrong. For he joins in the chorus of twenty per cent, And owns it a very good song.
Behold next the merchant, the federal lad, Who hopes that the union is strong, But says it is money that makes the heart glad, And hammers away with a song.
The merchant is punctual—to see himself paid, And wishes for credit that's long, Yet strikes up the ditty of commerce and trade, How quickly he joins in the song.
The lawyer and parson do know very well, The things that to singing belong, One fingers the fee, ere a word he can tell, One "turns off his flock with a song."
And WASHINGTON too, the hero and sage, To Heaven he carols this song:— "The blessings which thou to Columbia gave; "Oh Heaven! I pray thee prolong."