Perhaps had I chosen some other profession
Than that of moulding the human mind,
I might have secured a greater possession
Of lucre and treasures and powers combined,
Than all I may now of these truly own;
But I have in my casket some jewels I treasure
Far more than all stocks and houses and lands,
In gold and silver their worth has no measure,
For none may compute warm hearts and true hands,
When the shadows of years are over us thrown.

There are two kinds of discontent—
Malignant, and progressive,—
The latter is the proper sort,
Of it, be quite possessive.
The former, born of parentage
Whose motive powers are evil,
Serves but one purpose here below—
To aid its father—Devil.