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 fool! thy thirst of wealth forsake— Thereto in mind no liking take; The little wealth thy work acquires— With that content thy heart’s desires.

Money breeds ill,—remember this; From money comes no jot of bliss; Nor trust his son the rich man dare,— This is the law known ev’rywhere.

Who is thy wife, and who thy child? This world is full of wonders wild! Whose art thou, man? whence comest thou? Think, brother, of the matter now.

Boast not of wealth or friends or prime; All in a wink is stol’n by Time; Leaving this world’s attractions vain, Sweet Brahmahood soon do thou gain.

Our life is fickle, dim and brief As water on a lotus-leaf; For, Dragon Malady devours This care-beladen world of ours.

Think always of this matter high, The thought of brittle wealth put by; With good men’s concourse for thy boat Thou thro’ this sea-like world canst float.

The Eight Great Hills, the Seven Seas, Brahm, Indra, Surya, Rudra—these Nor thou nor I nor aught can be;— Then Wherefore grief is felt by thee?