Page:Poems of Emma Lazarus vol 2.djvu/218

200 If the world flatter thee with soft-voiced art, Know 't is a conning witch who charms thy heart. Whose habit is to wed man's soul with grief, And those who are dose-hound in love to part. He who bestows his wealth upon the poor, Has only lent it to the Lord, be sure — Of what avail to clasp it with clenched hand ? It goes not with ns to the grave obscure. The voice of those who dwell within the tomb, Who in corruption's house have made their home ; " O ye who wander o'er us still to-day, When will ye come to share with us the gloom ?" How can'st thou ever of the world complain. And murmuring, burden it with all thy pain ? Silence ! thou art a traveller at an inn, A guest, who may but over night remain. Be thou not wroth against the proud, but show ' How he who yesterday great joy did know. To-day is begging for his very bread. And painfully upon a crutch must go. How foolish they whose faith is fixed upon The treasures of their worldly wealth alone. Far wiser were it to obey the Lord, And only say, " The will of God be done ! "