James Russell Lowell’s Admonition

In an age ruled by material ambition, rising costs of living, expanding marketplaces, and political economies that price even the barest needs of human survival, a 19th-century voice resurfaces with startling relevance. American poet James Russell Lowell, in his reflective poetic work The Vision of Sir Launfal, issued an admonition that feels uncannily tailored to our own era. One where existence itself often seems to come with a bill attached. His lines read:

“Earth gets its price for what Earth gives us;

The beggar is taxed for a corner to die in,

The priest hath his fee who comes and shrives us,

We bargain for the graves we lie in;

At the devil’s booth are all things sold,

Each ounce of dross costs its ounce of gold;

For a cap and bells our lives we pay,

Bubbles we buy with a whole soul’s tasking:

’Tis heaven alone that is given away,

’Tis only God may be had for the asking,

No price is set on the lavish summer;

June may be had by the poorest comer.”

Lowell’s passage, written in the mid-1800s, resonated deeply with readers who lived in a rapidly industrializing world, where the dignity of human life often found itself subordinate to the demands of commerce and the scramble for wealth. Nearly two centuries later, the poem reads like a modern editorial – one challenging societies where survival is monetized and the price of living weighs heavily on ordinary people.

Lowell’s lament that “Earth gets its price for what Earth gives us” captures the fundamental truth of economies across history. Whether in his century or ours, nothing comes without payment—food, shelter, burial, and even spiritual consolation. He speaks of a world where “the beggar is taxed for a corner to die in” and funerals require bargaining for “the graves we lie in.” These lines unmask a persistent human reality: poverty is not simply the absence of wealth, but the presence of systems that penalize struggle.

Today’s societies echo that grim observation. From rising rent and hospital bills to the cost of burials and the price of solace, literal or symbolic, the economy rarely relieves a human being of the pressure to earn, pay, and justify their existence. The monetization of basic human needs is not new; Lowell merely stated in verse what social critics would later express in policy debates and protest movements.

When Lowell warns, “At the devil’s booth are all things sold,” he does not only condemn external forces but the internal ones – thus the temptations that beckon individuals to sacrifice integrity, time, and peace for frivolous pursuits. “Each ounce of dross costs its ounce of gold,” he writes, meaning every worthless indulgence extracts a precious toll. The “cap and bells” he mentions evoke the jester’s costume. That is symbols of vanity, applause, and empty entertainment.

In the 21st century, the world’s “devil’s booths” are varied: consumer culture, online validation economies, political opportunism, and corporate ladders climbed at the expense of family, time, and health. People often trade stillness for status, conscience for convenience, identity for acceptance, and, as Lowell puts it, “a whole soul’s tasking” for bubbles – momentary pleasures that burst almost as soon as they are grasped.

His words are neither puritanical nor anti-material; rather, they pose a question that continues to confront modern audiences: What is the true cost of the things we desire, and are they worth the sacrifice?

Lowell’s turning point is not despair, but hope. After detailing the relentless commerce of earthly life, he pivots sharply: “’Tis heaven alone that is given away.” In a world where everything demands payment, the poet points to what cannot be bought: divine grace, genuine peace, the quiet gift of nature, and the beauty of existence itself. “June may be had by the poorest comer,” he writes, celebrating the sunlight, the wind, the warm earth, which is symbolic of all blessings that remain immune to the logic of price tags.

Even in today’s world, where commodification stretches into the digital, emotional, and spiritual, certain experiences remain beyond economic reach. A sunrise still costs nothing. Sincere love carries no subscription fee. Human goodness and faith (whether religious, moral, or philosophical) still belong to those who seek them with honest intention.

Lowell therefore draws a distinct line: the world demands payment, but the soul’s highest nourishment is free.

Lowell’s admonition does not merely preach personal restraint; it questions societal priorities. If the beggar must pay for a place to die, what does that say about humanity? If graves are bargained for, how do we value life itself? If entertainment consumes lives while meaningful pursuits languish, what becomes of culture and conscience?

His critique invites readers such as citizens, leaders, and communities to weigh human dignity against material systems. In today’s context, the message resonates amid conversations on social welfare, fair wages, access to healthcare, education affordability, housing crises, and the widening gulf between wealth and survival.

The enduring power of Lowell’s stanza lies in its capacity to transcend century and geography. It speaks to capitalism and feudalism alike, to democracies and monarchies, to industrial and digital ages. It echoes wherever human worth risks being measured by economic output.

Ultimately, Lowell leaves his audience not with condemnation but with a choice. Society may price life, but individuals must decide what they will surrender, pursue, protect, and hold sacred. The admonition is clear: guard your soul against cheap exchanges. Treasure the gifts that cost nothing. Do not lose eternity in the purchase of trifles.

Lowell’s voice, though nearly two centuries old, sounds startlingly contemporary, reminding us that while times change, the moral questions of life persist. In the global marketplace of today, where earthly gains command steep prices, his simple truth stands firm: the most precious things remain free, and the most expensive losses are often paid not in money, but in spirit.

For those willing to listen, the poet’s warning endures as both caution and comfort. Earth may set a price on nearly everything, but heaven (in faith, in nature, in goodness, in love) still welcomes the poorest comer.