From the dear wives who cheer their home; Whose hero souls cast fear away When battling in a rightful fray; Who speak the truth with dying breath Undaunted by approaching death, Their lives illumed with beacon light The honours which they scorn to seek ; And earnest, faithful, work and pray; To these, the bounteous, pure, and true, Mahabharata. FEED THE POOR. If thou would win the dear reward Which only virtue earns, Waste not thy wealth upon the lord Who gift for gift returns. Not with the rich thy treasures share; And, with the gold thy wants can spare, Be sure that those who would receive Deserve and crave thy care; And ponder, ere thy hands relieve, The how, and when, and where. THE WISE SCHOLAR. I hold that scholar truly wise Who schools his heart and lips and eyes: Who can as worthless clay behold The treasures of another's gold: Who looks upon his neighbour's wife Who feels as for himself for all That live on earth, both great and small. THE END. |