 | Rhymes with reason and without |  |
153
THE MISER.
No more doth the miser count his gold
By the lamp's uncertain ray;
Nor brings he it from that hidden hold
Where years it hath lain away.
By the lamp's uncertain ray;
Nor brings he it from that hidden hold
Where years it hath lain away.
No cumbrous bars of the oaken wood,
No walls of the granite stone,
Needeth he now to preserve that good
Which once was his care alone.
No walls of the granite stone,
Needeth he now to preserve that good
Which once was his care alone.
He soundly sleeps in his midnight bed,
Nor feareth he for his pelf;
No loaded pistols are 'neath his head,
No daggers near on the shelf.
Nor feareth he for his pelf;
No loaded pistols are 'neath his head,
No daggers near on the shelf.
He trembles no more at the watchman's tread,
As he paceth his nightly round;
And he quakes not with that olden dread
At the least mysterious sound.
As he paceth his nightly round;
And he quakes not with that olden dread
At the least mysterious sound.
But a shrewd old fellow he grows each day,
And has found, to his heart's content,
That better than packing of dollars away
Is the grateful cent per cent.
And has found, to his heart's content,
That better than packing of dollars away
Is the grateful cent per cent.
154
And he'll tell a friend, with a knowing wink,
Who his former practice knew,
That though one dollar may pleasantly chink,
There 's pleasanter music in two.
Who his former practice knew,
That though one dollar may pleasantly chink,
There 's pleasanter music in two.
There 's red on his brow, and a gleam in his eye,
As he wanders through the mart;
And blandly smiles he on passers-by,
But there's usury in his heart.
As he wanders through the mart;
And blandly smiles he on passers-by,
But there's usury in his heart.
And toils he, and toils he the dollars to win,
And add to his gathering pelf,
Nor thinks he once that the father of sin
Has a short mortgage on himself;
And add to his gathering pelf,
Nor thinks he once that the father of sin
Has a short mortgage on himself;
That the time of foreclosing must soon arrive,
And then, to save his soul,
'T will be vain in any known court to strive,
For the fiend will get the whole.
And then, to save his soul,
'T will be vain in any known court to strive,
For the fiend will get the whole.
And this be the moral to grace my lay:
It is n't investing well,
To sordidly barter your soul away,
And receive your payment in—.
It is n't investing well,
To sordidly barter your soul away,
And receive your payment in—.
| Rhymes with reason and without | |