MONEYBy W.

H.

DaviesWHEN I had money, money, O!

I knew no joy till I went poor;For many a false man as a friendCame knocking at my door.

Then felt I like a child that holdsA trumpet that he must not blowBecause a man is dead; I daredNot speak to let this false world know.

Much have I thought of life, and seenHow poor men’s hearts are ever light;And how their wives do hum like beesAbout their work from morn till night.

So, when I hear these poor ones laugh,And see the rich ones coldly frown—Poor men, think I, need not go upSo much as rich men should come down.

When I had money, money, O!

My many friends proved all untrue;But now I have no money, O!

My friends are real though very few.

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