RICHES by George Harris

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Aug 29, 1878

RICHES

By George Harris

What proverbs we have on the subject of money. “Money is power,” “money makes the mare go,” “money is the root of all evil,” and so forth, and so on, each one of which contains a mine of truth.

Money is not only power, materially and physically, but it is power influentially. “A money man” is the envy and delight of all persons, however intellectual or however degraded they may be.

“I wish I had his money,” says the young, stout, hearty, able-bodied man, as he sees the millionaire pass him in the street, not thinking, or, at all events, not caring for the sinew and enterprise that he himself possesses, to build up fortune, fame, and influence. And thus, in wishing, the manly fellow devotes so much valuable time to castle-building that too little is left to working, and old age slips upon him ere he is aware, and finds him still wishing for the riches of the more industrious than himself, and envying their estate.

“I wish I had his money,” sigh the healthy young maiden and her lover, never pausing to draw a comparison between their several fortunes.

The rich man’s money looms up like a beautiful cloud before them, hiding innumerable cares and anxieties from which these young people are free; keeping out of sight those bodily ills which luxury breeds, and all the horrors of ennui and satiety—the fear of death that wealth fosters, the jealousy of life and love from which it is inseparable.

Let none wish for unearned gold. The sweat by which it is gathered is only the sweat by which it is preserved for enjoyment; for in too literal a sense is it true that “it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for the rich man to enter into the kingdom of Heaven.”

Wish for no man’s money. The health and strength, and freshness, and sweet sleep of youth are yours. Young love by day and night encircles you. Hearts unsoiled by the deep sin of covetousness beat fondly with your own. None, ghoul-like, listen for the death-tick in your chamber; your shoes have value in men’s eyes only when you tread in them. The smile no wealth can purchase greets you, living; and tears that rarely drop on rosewood coffins will fall from pitying eyes for you, dying.

Be wise in being content with competency. You have enough to eat, to drink, and to wear. Then you have all that the rich man has. John Jacob Astor used to say, with all his wealth, that he got for his immense labors and responsibilities only a good bed to sleep on, good clothes to wear, and sufficient to eat and drink. Who that will work gets less?

Perhaps, envious young reader, the millionaire’s raiment is more costly than yours, and he fares more sumptuously. But what of that? God loves him none the more—nay, less, if he abuses his wealth by too sumptuous living. His life is shortened, his pains and aches increased, his extravagance punished by sorrows and despairs.

If you have not as much money as the rich man, nature is still as good to you in all her glory as to him; her hills and valleys, fields and flowers, rocks and streams, and her holiest places, know no desecration in the step of poverty, but welcome ever to their wealth of beauty rich and poor alike.

Be content! Labor and be strong in the best of what you have, wasting no happy opportunities in idle wishes for things that burden those who own them, and which would not bless you, if you possessed them, so much as the gifts already bestowed by a Wisdom that never errs.

Being content, the poorest man is rich, while he who counts his millions has little joy if he be otherwise.

There is a jewel which no Indian mine can buy, No chemic art can counterfeit; It makes men rich in greatest poverty, Makes winter wine, turns wooden cups to gold, The homely whistle to sweet music’s strain; Seldom it comes, to few from Heaven sent, That much in little—all in naught—content! —George Harris.