The Lands of Plenty and Naught

O, there is a land of Plenty just beyond the land of Naught,

Where the verdant fields are yielding something else than food for thought;

Where the orchards all are bearing fruits abundant every day,

Where the keepers of the vineyards never work but always play.

But between the land of Plenty and the land of Naught arise

Mountains called the Heights of Trouble with their summits in the skies;

They are steep and bold and rugged, nigh impossible to scale,

And the climbers often falter, and the greater number fail.

There are winding paths and crossroads, there are tunnels, pits and streams,

There are dark and lonely places, there are spots aglow with dreams;

There are traps and snares and pitfalls, there beauty places too,

And it’s up to every pilgrim which direction he’ll pursue.

Every mortal on this footstool seeks the land of Plenty which

Is the garden of the climbers and the playground of the rich;

Only men endowed with courage, and with honesty and thought

Can pass o’er the Heights of Trouble far beyond the land of Naught.

April 5, ‘10