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The book of the dead | ||
52
[XXIV. At times the patience of my soul]
At times the patience of my soul
With sudden rage is overflown;
I sparkle like an angry coal
At which a furious breath is blown.
With sudden rage is overflown;
I sparkle like an angry coal
At which a furious breath is blown.
In wrath my frenzied numbers roar,
A brandished sword in every verse;
And thus upon my foes I pour
The flames of my prophetic curse.
A brandished sword in every verse;
And thus upon my foes I pour
The flames of my prophetic curse.
May you, who so for money yearn,
From thirst for gold be ne'er exempt;
And may each several coin you earn,
Earn for you a distinct contempt!
From thirst for gold be ne'er exempt;
And may each several coin you earn,
Earn for you a distinct contempt!
May every virtue you can claim
Be traded off, be priced and sold,
And made an offering of shame
Before your loathsome idol, gold!
Be traded off, be priced and sold,
And made an offering of shame
Before your loathsome idol, gold!
53
The miser's lust, the miser's fear,
Possess you, soul and heart and mind,
Make you suspect love's holiest tear,
And shut your door against your kind!
Possess you, soul and heart and mind,
Make you suspect love's holiest tear,
And shut your door against your kind!
May money be your all in all,
Your only gain, your only power,
The god on which your terrors call
For comfort in your dying hour!
Your only gain, your only power,
The god on which your terrors call
For comfort in your dying hour!
And, at that hour, may money dole
Such comfort as it has in store;
As on your lonely beds you roll,
May your hands clutch abroad for more!
Such comfort as it has in store;
As on your lonely beds you roll,
May your hands clutch abroad for more!
So dying, in your coffins rot!—
The plough pass o'er your nameless graves!—
Your gold be as the heavy shot
That sinks the sailor in the waves!
The plough pass o'er your nameless graves!—
Your gold be as the heavy shot
That sinks the sailor in the waves!
The book of the dead | ||