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Title: The Account
Author: T. S. Arthur [
More Titles by Arthur]
THE clock from the city hall struck one;
The merchant's task was not yet done;
He knew the old year was passing away,
And his accounts must all be settled that day;
He must know for a truth how much he should win,
So fast the money was rolling in.
He took the last cash-book, from the pile,
And he summed it up with a happy smile;
For a just and upright man was he,
Dealing with all most righteously,
And now he was sure how much he should win,
How fast the money was rolling in.
He heard not the soft touch on the door--
He heard not the tread on the carpeted floor--
So still was her coming, he thought him alone,
Till she spake in a sweet and silvery tone:
"Thou knowest not yet how much thou shalt win--
How fast the money is rolling in."
Then from 'neath her white, fair arm, she took
A golden-clasped, and, beautiful book--
"'Tis my account thou hast to pay,
In the coming of the New Year's day--
Read--ere thou knowest how much thou shalt win,
How fast the money is rolling in."
He open'd the clasps with a trembling hand--
Therein was Charity's firm demand:
"To the widow, the orphan, the needy, the poor,
Much owest thou of thy yearly store;
Give, ere thou knowest how much thou shalt win--
While fast the money is rolling in."
The merchant took from his box of gold
A goodly sum for the lady bold;
His heart was richer than e'er before,
As she bore the prize from the chamber door.
Ye who would know how much ye can win,
Give, when the money is rolling in.
[The end]
T. S. Arthur's poem: Account
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