Page:Poems Cook.djvu/251

The patriot boasts his burning zeal
In the people's good and his country's weal;
But let me whisper a word in his ear,
And freedom and truth become less dear;—
The honest friend will turn a spy,
The witness swear to the hideous lie:
Oh! the souls are unnumber'd, and crimes untold,
That are warp'd and wrought by the spirit of Gold.

I work much evil,—but yet, oh! yet,
I reign with pride when my throne is set
In the good man's heart, where Feeling gives
Its aid to the meanest thing that lives
My glorious home is made in the breast
That loves to see the weary rest;
That freely and promptly yields a part
Of its riches to gladden the toil-worn heart;
That loathes the chance of the rattling dice,

And turns from the gambler's haunts of vice;
That does not watch with frenzied zeal
The tossing throw or circling deal;
That squanders not with spendthrift haste,
Nor lets glad Plenty run to Waste;
But saves enough to give or lend
The starving foe or needy friend.

Glory is mine when I shed my light
On the heart that cannot be lured from right;
That seeks to spread the cheering ray
On all that come around its way.
Cursed is wealth when it falls to the share
Of the griping dotard or selfish heir!
But wisely scatter the talents ye hold,
And blessings shall fall on the spirit of Gold.

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