For covetousness disbelieveth God, and laugheth at the rights of men; Spurring unto theft and lying, and tempting to the poison and the knife; It sundereth the bonds of love, and quickeneth the flames of hate; A curse that shall wither the brain, and case the heart with iron. Content is the true riches, for without it there is no satisfying, But a ravenous all-devouring hunger gnaweth the vitals of the soul. The wise man knoweth where to stop, as he runneth in the race of fortune, For experience of old hath taught him, that happiness lingereth midway; And many in hot pursuit have hasted to the goal of wealth, But have lost, as they ran, those apples of gold,--the mind and the power to enjoy it. There is no greater evil among men than a testament framed with injustice: Where caprice hath guided the boon, or dishonesty refused what was due. Generous is the robber on the highway, in the open daring of his guilt, To the secret coward, whose malice liveth and harmeth after him; Who smoothly sank into the tomb, with the smile of fraud upon his face, And the last black deed of his existence was injury without redress: For deaf is the ear of the dead, and can hear no palliating reasons; The smiter is not among the living, and Right pleadeth but in vain. Yet shall the curse of the oppressed be as blight upon the grave of the unjust; Yea, bitterly shall that handwriting testify against him at the judgment. I saw the humble relation that tended the peevishness of wealth, And ministered, with kind hand, to the wailings of disease and discontent: I noted how watchfulness and care were feeding on the marrow of her youth, How heavy was the yoke of dependence, loaded by petty tyranny; Yet I heard the frequent suggestion,--It can be but a little longer, Patience and mute submission shall one day reap a rich reward. So, tacitly enduring much, waited that humble friend, Putting off the lover of her youth until the dawn of wealth: And it came, that day of release, and the freed heart could not sorrow, For now were the years of promise to yield their golden harvest: Hope, so long deferred, sickly sparkled in her eye, The miserable past was forgotten, as she looked for the happier future, And she checked, as unworthy and ungrateful, the dark suspicious thought That perchance her right had been the safer, if not left alone with honour: But, alas, the sad knowledge soon came, that her stern task-master's will Hath rewarded her toil with a jibe, her patience with utter destitution!-- Shall not the scourge of justice lash that cruel coward, Who mingled the gall of ingratitude with the bitterness of disappointment? Shall not the hate of men, and vengeance, fiercely pursuing, Hunt down the wretched being that sinneth in his grave? He fancied his idol self safe from the wrath of his fellows, But Hades rose as he came in, to point at him the finger of scorn;