AVARICE.
Some remove the landmarks; they violently take away flocks, and feed thereof.
They drive away the ass of the fatherless, they take the widow’s ox for a pledge.
They turn the needy out of the way; the poor of the earth hide themselves together.—Job, xxiv. 2, 3, 4.
Woe unto them that join house to house, that lay field to field, till there be no place, that they may be placed alone in the midst of the earth!—Isaiah, v. 8.
Your gold and silver is cankered, and the rust of them shall be a witness against you, and shall eat your flesh as it were fire. Ye have heaped treasure together for the last days.
Behold, the hire of the labourers who have reaped down your fields, which is of you kept back by fraud, crieth: and the cries of them which have reaped, are entered into the ears of the Lord of Sabaoth.—James, v. 3, 4.
For of his wicked pelf his god he made,
And unto hell himself for money sold:
Accursed usury was all his trade,
And right and wrong alike in equal balance weighed.
Spenser.
If thou art rich, thou art poor;
For, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows,
Thou bearest thy heavy riches but a journey,
And death unloads thee.
Shakspere.
Woe to the worldly man, whose covetous
Ambition labours to join house to house;
Lay field to field, till the enclosures edge
The plain, girdling a country with one hedge:
They leave no place unbought; no piece of earth
Which they will not engross; making a dearth
Of all inhabitants; until they stand
Unneighboured as unblest within the land.
Bishop King.
Gold glitters most where virtue shines no more,
As stars from absent suns, have leave to shine.
Young.
O cursed lust of gold! when for thy sake
The fool throws up his interest in both worlds;
First starved in this, then damned in that to come.
Blair.
Starve beside the chests, whose every corn
At the last day, shall in the court of Heaven
Witness against thee.
Sir E. B. Lytton.
Avarice o’ershoots
Its destined mark; and with abundance cursed,
In wealth, the ills of poverty endures.
George Bally.
The thirst for gold
Hath made men demons, till the heart that feels
The impulse of impartial love, nor kneels
In worship foul to Mammon, is contemned.
W. H. Burleigh.
But should my destiny be quest of wealth,
Kind Heaven, oh! keep my tempted soul in health!
And should’st thou bless my toil with ample store,
Keep back the madness that would seek for more!
Thomas Ward.
Oh! life misspent—Oh! foulest waste of time!
No time has he his grovelling mind to store
With history’s truths, or philosophic lore.
No charms for him has God’s all-blooming earth—
His only question this—“What are they worth?”
Art, nature, wisdom, are no match for gain;
And even religion bids him pause in vain.
Thomas Ward.
The miser comes, his heart to mammon sold—
His life, his hope, his god, his all is gold.
“To-morrow, and to-morrow,” he will say,
“Soul, take thine ease, for thou hast many a day
Whose smiling dawns will make thee to rejoice.”
Hush! Hark the echoes of that awful voice!
“Thou fool! This night yield up thy earthly trust!”
Gaze once again, his treasures are but dust.
B. D. Winslow.
Gold! gold! in all ages the curse of mankind,
Thy fetters are forged for the soul and the mind:
The limbs may be free as the wings of a bird,
And the mind be the slave of a look or a word.
To gain thee, men barter eternity’s crown,
Yield honour, affection, and lasting renown.
Park Benjamin.