The World for Sale by Rev. Ralph Hoyt
THE world for sale! Hang out the sign; call
every traveler here to me: who'll buy this brave
estate of mine, and set this weary spirit free? 'Tis
going! yes, I mean to fling the bauble from my soul
away; I'll sell it, whatsoe'er it bring: the world's at
auction here to-day! It is a glorious sight to see—but,
ah! it has deceived me sore; it is not what it
seems to be. For sale! it shall be mine no more.
Come, turn it o'er and view it well; I would not have
you purchase dear. 'Tis going! going! I must
sell! Who bids! who'll buy this splendid Tear?
Here's Wealth, in glittering heaps of gold; who
bids? But let me tell you fair, a baser lot was never
sold! Who'll buy the heavy heaps of Care? and,
here, spread out in broad domain, a goodly landscape
all may trace; hall, cottage, tree, field, hill
and plain:—who'll buy himself a burial place?
Here's Love, the dreamy potent spell that Beauty
flings around the heart; I know its power, alas! too
well; 'tis going! Love and I must part! Must
part? What can I more with Love? all o'er is the
enchanter's reign. Who'll buy the plumeless, dying
dove—a breath of bliss, a storm of pain? And
Friendship, rarest gem of earth; who e'er has found
the jewel his? Frail, fickle, false, and little worth!
who bids for Friendship—as it is? 'Tis going!
going! hear the call; once, twice and thrice, 'tis
very low! 'Twas once my hope, my stay, my all,
but now the broken staff must go! Fame! hold the
brilliant meteor high; how dazzling every gilded
name! Ye millions! now's the time to buy. How
much for Fame? how much for Fame? Hear how it
thunders! Would you stand on high Olympus, far
renowned, now purchase, and a world command!—and
be with a world's curses crowned. Sweet star of
Hope! with ray to shine in every sad foreboding
breast, save this desponding one of mine—who bids
for man's last friend, and best? Ah, were not mine
a bankrupt life, this treasure should my soul sustain!
But Hope and Care are now at strife, nor ever may
unite again. Ambition, Fashion, Show and Pride, I
part from all forever now; Grief, in an overwhelming
tide, has taught my haughty heart to bow. By
Death, stern sheriff! all bereft, I weep, yet humbly
kiss the rod; the best of all I still have left—my
Faith, My Bible, and my God.