Prodigality hath a sister Meanness, his fixed antagonist heart-fellow, Who often outliveth the short career of the brother she despiseth: She hath lean lips and a sharp look, and her eyes are red and hungry; But he sloucheth in his gait, and his mouth speaketh loosely and maudlin. Let a spendthrift grow to be old, he will set his heart on saving, And labour to build up by penury that which extravagance threw down: Even so, with most men, do riches earn themselves a double curse; They are ill-got by tight dealing: they are ill-spent by loose squandering. Give me enough, saith Wisdom;--for he feareth to ask for more; And that by the sweat of my brow, addeth stout-hearted Independence: Give me enough, and not less, for want is leagued with the tempter; Poverty shall make a man desperate, and hurry him ruthless into crime: Give me enough, and not more, saving for the children of distress; Wealth ofttimes killeth, where want but hindereth the budding: There is green glad summer near the pole, though brief and after long winter, But the burnt breasts of the torrid zone yield never kindly nourishment. Wouldst thou be poor, scatter to the rich,--and reap the tares of ingratitude; Wouldst thou be rich, give unto the poor; thou shalt have thine own with usury: For the secret hand of Providence prospereth the charitable all ways, Good luck shall he have in his pursuits, and his heart shall be glad within him; Yet perchance he never shall perceive, that, even as to earthly gains, The cause of his weal as of his joy, hath been small givings to the poor. In the plain of Benares is there found a root that fathereth a forest, Where round the parent banian-tree drop its living scions; Thirstily they strain to the earth, like stalactites in a grotto, And strike broad roots, and branch again, lengthening their cool arcades: And the dervish madly danceth there, and the faquir is torturing his flesh, And the calm brahmin worshippeth the sleek and pampered bull: At the base lean jackals coil, while from above depending With dull malignant stare watcheth the branch-like boa. Even so, in man's heart is a sin that is the root of all evil; Whose fibres strangle the affections, whose branches overgrow the mind: And oftenest beneath its shadow thou shalt meet distorted piety,-- The clenched and rigid fist, with the eyes upturned to heaven, Fanatic zeal with miserly severity, a mixture of gain with godliness, And him, against whom passion hath no power, kneeling to a golden calf: The hungry hounds of extortion are there, the bond, and the mortgage, and the writ, While the appetite for gold, unslumbering, watcheth to glut its maw:-- And the heart, so tenanted and shaded, is cold to all things else; It seeth not the sunshine of heaven, nor is warmed by the light of charity.