Classic Poem

" WEALTH ne'er enriches truly one whose heart
Is set on money; sole sufficiency
Makes men live richly. One not worth two loaves
May be more rich and more at ease than he
Who has a hundred hogsheads full of wheat.
Suppose the latter is a merchant, torn
With care enough before his store is gained,
Then doubly, to increase and multiply;
Nor ever will he think to have enough,
However much he painfully acquires.
But happy he who asks but daily bread,
Lives on his income, finds it adequate,
And though his sole possession is a sou
Has little fear of losing it — knows well
That he can earn what he may need to eat,
Fitly to clothe himself, and mend his shoes.
If he fall ill and find all viands flat,
He knows he has no need of dainty food,
And recollects that diet is the cure
Most like to lead him on the road to health;
Or, anyway, a little will suffice.
Perhaps he thinks he never will be ill,
Or that the Hospital will care for him
In such a case, or that there's time enough
To ponder that when illness shall arrive.
Perhaps he finds some solace in the thought
That, if he nothing save for rainy day,
When frost or heat or hunger threatens death
He'll much more quickly get to Paradise,
Which he believes God has prepared for him
When he shall leave the exile of this world.
Pythagoras's Verses Aureate
Are famous for the phrasing of this thought:
" When from the body you depart, all free
You mount to Heaven, leaving worldliness
And living ever in pure deity."
He is a fool who thinks the earth his home:
Not even is the world one's native land,
As you may learn if you will ask the clerks
Who read the statements of Boethius
In Consolation of Philosophy .
(Who should translate it would do men much good!)
Happy is he who lives within his means
And nothing more desires, but ever thinks
That he is free from poverty. The book
Says, " No man's wretched if he thinks he's not."
It's as true of peasant as of knight or king.
Many a servant has a happy heart
Bearing his charcoal through the Place de Greve
Untroubled by the burden, since he works
In patience. He will hop and skip and jump
Toward Saint Marcel for his poor meal of tripe,
Nor ever hoard his pennyworth of wealth,
But in the tavern all his savings spend;
Then back to bear his burdens, not in pain
But in pure joy, for he has earned his bread
And ne'er is tempted to defraud or steal.
Returning to the tavern, he will drink
And live as live he should. Rich are all such,
Abundantly, in thinking they've enough;
God knows they're honester than usurers.
No usurer can actually be rich,
For covetousness makes him suffer want.
" Whoever it displease to hear the truth,
I say no merchant ever lives at ease;
He has for life enlisted in the war
Of gain, and never will acquire enough.
Though what he has he fears to lose, he runs
After the remnant which he'll ne'er possess.
His only thought's to get his neighbor's goods.
As well he might tremendous effort make
To drink up at a draft the river Seine,
Which more supplies no matter how he drinks.
This is the anguish, this is the distress,
This is the greedy fire that ever burns,
This is the dolor, this the constant fight
That wounds his heart with fear of future want.
The more he gets, the more he seems to lack.
" Doctor and lawyer both such fetters wear,
And, if they sell their skill for cash, they'll hang
By such a rope. The one would gladly see,
So sweet and pleasant does he find his gain,
Threescore in place of every invalid;
The other fain would have, for every suit,
Thirty at least or ten or twenty score,
So strongly he's by selfishness impelled.
As bad divines are who overrun the earth,
Preaching to gain favor, honor, wealth;
Their hearts feel like distress; they live in sin.
But worst are those who purchase their soul's death
By following Vainglory's treacherous path.
Deceived are such deceivers, for such priests
Are never profitable to themselves
Whatever good they may for others do;
For evil purpose, when it fails its end,
May yet produce a sermon that does good.
The hearers may a good example take
The while Vainglory damns the sermoner.
" Leaving the Preachers, we'll of misers speak.
No love nor fear of God have they who hoard
More than they need of treasure in their chests
When out-of-doors they see the shivering poor
And starving hungry. God will make them pay.
Who lead such lives a triple vengeance feel:
The toil by which they wealth acquire; the fear
In which they ceaselessly their treasures guard;
The pain with which they leave them at the end.
In such a torment misers live and die.
All is from lack of love, so scarce on earth.
If such men loved, they would be loved again,
And perfect love would reign throughout the world.
No evil would be done; the more one had,
The more to those who were in want he'd give
Or lend for charity, not usury,
Provided their intentions were the best
And they were not with idleness attaint.
No poverty or wealth would then be seen
But where it was deserved, throughout the earth.
But so degenerate is all the world
That it has put up love for sale; no man
Loves but for his own profit, or for gift
Or service he may gain. E'en women sell
Themselves; may all such bargains have bad end!
" Thus by Deceit are all on earth disgraced,
And goods once common portioned out to few,
Who, bound in chains by Avarice, submit
Their native freedom to vile servitude —
Slaves to the gold that in their coffers lies.
Themselves and not their goods are prisoners.
Such wretched, earthy toads are riches' slaves.
They cannot understand that wealth's no good
Except to spend; they think it's but to keep,
Which is not true. They never deign to use
But always hoard their cash. They may go hang,
For spite of all their pains it will be spent
When in the end they die and spendthrift heirs
Shall dissipate it all most joyfully;
Then little good of it the misers have.
Nor are they sure to keep it until then;
Tomorrow's rising sun may see it snatched away. "