He's None the Worse For That

Dublin Core


He's None the Worse For That


What though the homespun suit he wears—

Best suit to the sons of toil—

What though no coarser food he fares,

And tends the loom, or tills the soil;

What though no gold-leaf gilds the tongue,

Devoted to congenial chat—

If Right prevails, and not the wrong,

The man is none the worse for that.

What though without the humble cot,

No costly ornament is seen;

What though the wife possesses not

Her satin gowns of black and green;

What though the merry houshold band

Half naked fly to ball and bat;

If conscience guide the head and heart,

The man is none the worse for that.

Truth is not a thing of dress—

Of spendor, wealth, or classic lore;

Would that these trappings were loved less,

And hoenst worth was clung to more!

Though pride may spurn the toiling crowd,

The tattered garb, the crownless hat,

Yet God and Nature cry aloud,

The man is none the worse for that.




1:2, p. 1


July 30, 1859


Unattributed, “He's None the Worse For That,” Periodical Poets, accessed February 24, 2024, https://periodicalpoets.com/items/show/550.


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