But such was not always the case, For yonder where wanes the ago, Loud Travel with bright, hopeful face, Rolled over thee proudly but slow.
Then rudeness with plenty was blest, And health was the consort of toil; Then "far as the East from the West," Was business from panic's turmoil.
But fast times have lured with great shows, The simple from certainty's shore, To where wealth into wealth only flows, And scorns the bare hands of the poor.
Alas! since we all can't be rich, Allow the poor poverty's ways; Contentment will bring all that which Wealth finds in her wasteful displays.
The orbit too great for the sphere, Speeds motion too fast or too slow; Let poverty learn to dwell where Fair Plentitude's hilltops are low.
Ambition deceives with a smile, Those who in the gust of the times, Instead of the sure calm of toil, Would rush into wealth-blooming climes.