And as each day, that ne'er returns,
But joins the past,
Comes and goes by, the rich man toils
Hard at his task,--
No time for thought or anything
But just his wealth.
Can he be dreaming life's for aye?
Now fails his health,
And death comes in and beckons him away.
Good that was in his hands to do,
He left undone,
Forgetting, in his race for wealth,
Life's setting sun!
His thoughts all lay in how to make
One dollar seven:
And then, too late, he found, for gold
There's no demand in heaven.
776