Envy, that greedy fiend within
The worlding's all-absorbing breast,
That most uncomfortable sin
That ever marred a mortal's rest,
Peace cannot dwell within the soul
That yields to its fell, dark control.
Why should I envy those whom earth
Has pampered, dandled on her knee,
Or those who, blest with richer birth,
Ne'er felt the chill of poverty?
They have a right to what's their own,
That right is mine, and that alone.
What though my lonely path be rough,
My prospects desert-like and bare,
Still I'm content and have enough,
And might at times a little spare
To help a brother in his need,
And lessen, too, my worldly greed.
What selfishness to fret and fume
And sicken at another's joy!
Such envious thoughts the reins consume,
And every trace of good destroy
To fret won't make your troubles less,
Nor yet will envy bring redress.
Where envy reigns love disappears--
And what am I, of love bereft?
The slave of gloomy doubts and fears,
Without one ray of comfort left.
Thus envy leads to discontent,
And both to present punishment.