Contentment Poem By Ada Cambridge
Is it a virtue, as the sages say,
The ‘trivial round and common task’ to ply,
And for no wider walk of life to sigh
Than we were born to; sweetly, day by day,
Our meed of lowly reverence to pay
Our high-placed ‘betters’; never to defy
The powers that be; never to kick or cry,
Or think, or question – simply to obey?
Then vice be with us, although blood be shed.
No pact with powers partizan and blind;
No peace with Custom that makes right of wrong.
We shall content us when the starved are fed,
When men and brothers are agreed and kind,
And there is fair play between weak and strong.