O not in palaces of pride
Are love and faith most surely found;
Where peace and lowliness abide.
Is ofttimes holier ground.

I deem the honest heart of him
Who turns the brown soil to the sun
And keeps a cottage neat and trim
By far the happier one.

With him is e'er the noblest art,
A faithfulness no might can bend;
His surest peace, a lowly heart,
His truest wealth, a friend.