RISE up early, sit up late,
Be thou unto Avarice sold;
Watch thou well at Mammon's gate,
Just to gain a little gold.
Crush thy brother neath thy feet,
Till each manly thought is flown;
Hear not, though he loud entreat,
Be thou deaf to every moan.
Wield the lash, and hush the cry,
Let thy conscience now be seared;
Pile thy glittering gems on high,
Till thy golden god is reared.
Then before its sparkling shrine
Bend the neck and bow the knee;
Victor thou, all wealth is thine,
Yet, what doth it profit thee?






THE HEAVEN SENT, HEAVEN RETURNED.





PURE as an infant's heart that sin ne'er touched,