Amin, the Miser
Long centuries ago — so runs the tale —
There raged a frightful famine in the land
Fed by the fruitful Nile: from morn till eve,
From evening until morn, a starving crowd, —
Mothers with babies wailing at their breasts,
Pinched, pallid children, men grown gaunt with want, —
Besieged the granaries that the rich had filled
From the last plenteous harvest, — offering stores
Of gold and gear and precious household goods
For but a handful of the yellow grain
Piled up so high within. So, one by one,
The great doors opened to the clamorous pleas
Of the poor, starving wretches, hunger-mad.
At length but one remained, but one of all
The vast storehouses that the rich had filled,
Against the time of need, — and that was owned
By Amin, the old miser. Day by day
He sat upon its steps, watching the march
Of the great famine fiend, — with hellish greed
Deep-calculating how he might extort,
Through man's sore need, the greatest usury
Out of God's loving bounty; day by day,
The desperate people clamored at the gates,
Beseeching him for charity's sweet sake,
To give them but a morsel in exchange
For wealth laid up against old age and want
Through years of toil. The old man only jeered:
" What! would ye have me yield my precious stores,
Worth twice, nay, thrice their weight in yellow gold, —
To such poor pittance? nay, bring more, bring more!
All that a man hath will he give for life;
And that is what I sell ye — life, life, life! "
Oh, pitiless! the starving creatures heard,
And homeward crawled with all their little strength,
Bringing back gold, more gold, — until, at last,
Even the miser-soul of this old man
Was satisfied. With cruel, mocking zeal,
He hastes to open, — but recoils aghast
As the great doors slide back. Oh, judgment meet!
For heaven had sent the worm into his corn;
And now, instead of piles of golden wheat,
A festering mass, — corruption, rottenness, —
Is all that meets his horror-stricken sight!
Starved as they were, the waiting, longing crowd
Raised a great shout of triumph at the sure
And manifest judgment; Amin heard it not;
For God had smitten him, and he had died,
Down-stricken in his evil hour of pride.
There raged a frightful famine in the land
Fed by the fruitful Nile: from morn till eve,
From evening until morn, a starving crowd, —
Mothers with babies wailing at their breasts,
Pinched, pallid children, men grown gaunt with want, —
Besieged the granaries that the rich had filled
From the last plenteous harvest, — offering stores
Of gold and gear and precious household goods
For but a handful of the yellow grain
Piled up so high within. So, one by one,
The great doors opened to the clamorous pleas
Of the poor, starving wretches, hunger-mad.
At length but one remained, but one of all
The vast storehouses that the rich had filled,
Against the time of need, — and that was owned
By Amin, the old miser. Day by day
He sat upon its steps, watching the march
Of the great famine fiend, — with hellish greed
Deep-calculating how he might extort,
Through man's sore need, the greatest usury
Out of God's loving bounty; day by day,
The desperate people clamored at the gates,
Beseeching him for charity's sweet sake,
To give them but a morsel in exchange
For wealth laid up against old age and want
Through years of toil. The old man only jeered:
" What! would ye have me yield my precious stores,
Worth twice, nay, thrice their weight in yellow gold, —
To such poor pittance? nay, bring more, bring more!
All that a man hath will he give for life;
And that is what I sell ye — life, life, life! "
Oh, pitiless! the starving creatures heard,
And homeward crawled with all their little strength,
Bringing back gold, more gold, — until, at last,
Even the miser-soul of this old man
Was satisfied. With cruel, mocking zeal,
He hastes to open, — but recoils aghast
As the great doors slide back. Oh, judgment meet!
For heaven had sent the worm into his corn;
And now, instead of piles of golden wheat,
A festering mass, — corruption, rottenness, —
Is all that meets his horror-stricken sight!
Starved as they were, the waiting, longing crowd
Raised a great shout of triumph at the sure
And manifest judgment; Amin heard it not;
For God had smitten him, and he had died,
Down-stricken in his evil hour of pride.
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