RICH
                                                                --Edgar Guest

                             Who has a troop of romping youth
                                        About his parlor floor,
                            Who nightly hears a round of cheers,
                                      When he is at the door,
                                Who is attacked on every side
                                        By eager little hands
                             That reach to tug his grizzled mug,
                                The wealth of earth commands.
 
                          Who knows the joys of girls and boys,
                                    His lads and lassies, too,
                           Who's pounced upon and bounced upon
                                 When his day's work is through,
                            Whose trousers know the gentle tug
                                     Of some glad little tot,
                               The baby of his crew of love,
                                     Is wealthier than a lot.

                            Oh, be he poor and sore distressed
                                     And weary with the fight,
                              If with a whoop his healthy troop
                                    Run, welcoming at night,
                              And kisses greet him at the end
                                      Of all his toiling grim,
                             With what is best in life he's blest
                                     And rich men envy him.