Unknown it is to me, who handed down
From sire to son mine humble family;
Whether they dwelt in low obscurity,
Or by achievements purchased high renown:
Whether with princely or baronial crown
Their brows were bound, or martyr--wreath of flame:
No glories mark the track through which my name
Hath come: I only know it as mine own.
Yet I am one of no mean parentage:
The poorest line of Christian ancestry
Might serve upon the world's unbounded stage
To act God's dealings: all mankind might see
More truth than now they know, were this my line
Of distant sires their evidence to join.
Henry Alford
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-lxxx-my-ancestors/
