They like to make the people think that all their piles of yellow
chink, are weary burdens, to be borne, with eyes that weep and hearts
that mourn; but as you jog along the road, you see no millionaires
unload. They like to talk and drone and drool, to growing youths in
Sunday school, and tell them that the poor man's lot is just the thing
that hits the spot; to warn them of ambition's goad--they talk, and
talk, but don't unload. They like to talk of days long gone, when life
for them was at its dawn, and they were poor and bent with toil, and
drew their living from the soil, and lived in some obscure abode--and
so they dream, but don't unload. They like to take a check in hand,
and, headed by the village band, present it to some charity--'twould
mean five cents to you or me; then they're embalmed in song and ode;
they smirk and smile, but don't unload.