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I
N this year of Two Thousand, with its pomp and its pride, Its creeds and its churches behold; And those so devout, who come in and go out, Still they bow at the altar of gold. Early temples of Christ were not structures immense, With a spire-finger trained on the sky, Which would vanity hold, " just an altar of gold," For worship, in wet and in dry; The religion that men of to-day single out, In heat most intense and in cold, Is the wealth from the mint, though the neighbor would stint If it yields but a handful of gold. If Christ should to-day, 'mid this gold-chasing crowd, Call time on the lovers of lust, There are many accounts, of excessive amounts, As the soul, which is hidden in dust! |