Gold! gold! gold! gold! Bright and yellow, hard and cold!
O men with sisters dear, O men with mothers and wives, It is not linen you 're wearing out, But human creatures' lives!
Comfort and indolence are cronies.
But evil is wrought by want of thought, As well as want of heart!
Half of the failures in life come from pulling one's horse when he is leaping.
The Quaker loves an ample brim, A hat that bows to no salaam; And dear the beaver is to him As if it never made a dam.