The Rich Man

THE RICH man has his motor-car,

His country and his town estate.

He smokes a fifty-cent cigar

And jeers at Fate.

He frivols through the livelong day,

He knows not Poverty, her pinch.

His lot seems light, his heart seems gay;

He has a cinch.

Yet though my lamp burns low and dim,

Though I must slave for livelihood—

Think you that I would change with him?

You bet I would!