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Title: Political Economy
Author: Matt W. Alderson [
More Titles by Alderson]
CHAPTER I--PRODUCTION.
A youth, not handsome from an outward view,
Whose features stern belied the mellowness
That dwelt behind his earnest, steadfast look,
Delved in his heart upon a summer day
And found therein a narrow vein of love.
The prospect pleased, and on development
He found the mine was rich. For years he worked
And piled in heaps the ore upon the dump.
Deep 'neath the mountain ridges of his heart
He branched out levels on the silvered streak,
And found almost exhaustless hidden wealth.
He sought association, and he found
A friend who brought the skill to treat the ore.
He wasted not the wealth by labor won,
But, when refined, he stored the bricks away,
Until within himself there was no space,
And he was but a treasure house of love.
CHAPTER II--EXCHANGE.
The youth is lost. Behold, on manhood's verge,
Our hero now. A market for his ware
He seeks at home in vain. There smallest coins
Supply the daily needs, and he must seek
A distant shore, and one to coin his wealth.
Undauntedly, despite unbroken paths,
Unheeding storms and floods, he presses on
To reach her side. An aged man stands guard,
And yet he marches up the walks unchecked.
His very boldness awes. A maiden there
Is pleased with what he brings, and from her heart
She gladly pays him golden coin therefor.
She mints her boughten wealth, and later on
They meet again. They ride the garden gate.
Proximity, free trade promote exchange.
She pays him back his own, each coin a kiss.
The market steady rules, demand is strong.
Supply exhaustless. 'Tis called a fair exchange,
And yet they both are richer made thereby.
CHAPTER III--CONSUMPTION.
Beneath her father's roof we see them next,
And at the altar plight their faith--each heart
By love firm bound, and yet by love left free.
The years roll by and for the staff of life
They live on love. They need conveniences,
And love provides them all. Their luxuries
Are daily feasts of love. There are some days
When, overcome by care and household toils,
Her heart is faint, but when she seeks his side
She meets love's sweet caress and cheering kiss,
And wonders that her spirits ever drooped.
He never leaves her side but with a kiss,
And, when they meet again, he clasps her form
And plants love's token on her waiting lips.
Would'st thou the secret know, of happy homes?
'Tis gallantries like these that make them so.
At times when prostrate on her bed she lays,
She makes sad inroads on his stock of wealth;
Still, freely, lavishly he gives it her,
And wooes her back to health again, thro' love.
About the hearth a troop of children comes,
And as he soothes and cheers their restless hearts,
His garnered wealth, like snow, fast melts away.
The mine can be depended on no more;
Old age creeps on apace, and in his heart
He feels the strained timbers giving 'way.
He feeds now on the wealth in other days
Invested where 'twould bring a safe return.
With tottering steps yet proud he walks the streets,
And still has smiles for everyone he meets.
CHAPTER IV--DISTRIBUTION.
Upon his bed with withered, palsied frame,
Behold an aged man! A life well spent
Is drawing to a close. About him stand
The loved ones of his home. They prop him up
As with a halting voice, yet clear, he speaks:
"My treasured store of love will soon be yours.
Waste not the capital I leave behind
In shedding bitter tears above my grave;
I shall not feel thy love, and if I should,
'Twould make me sad to see you weeping there;
As thou dost love me, seek and cheer the hearts
That find life's road a sad and lonesome way;
My dying wish, yes children, my command,
Is that you love--yes, love--each oth--er here."
He breathes no more.
The last sad rites performed,
The hearts bereaved return with saddened step
And enters once again upon life's tasks.
The father's dying wish rings in their ears;
They check the flow of tears and rise above
The grief that bends them low. Love flows again,
And on the gates the youths and maidens fair
Are gaily swinging back and forth once more,
Fresh coinage from the mint is passing now,
And, as we walk the streets, upon the air
There rings a sound that proves the metal true.
[The end]
Matt W. Alderson's poem: Political Economy
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