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The Glutton
The bread thou eatest thou canst never know,That sums untold could never buy thee such;
Or to thy Father's board thou wouldst not go,
With hasty hands his gifts as now to clutch;
The bread thus eaten, it can never feed;
Save the lost life that thus in haste is stole;
Thou drinkest, but of more must soon have need;
'Tis not the fount of life that fills the bowl;
Thou art not there where spreads the kind repast,
But thine own will is guest where thou shouldst be;
And that which was but born in thee to fast,
Has bid thee serve that should from bonds be free;
And thou a servant wait'st where thou mightst sit,
While sin's foul carrion-bird upon thy dish has lit.
Poem No. 470; fall 1839
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