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A Better Choice
John built him a mansion so grand and high,
Its gilded dome met the azure sky;
With beautiful porches and pillars white
And carven statues to left and right.
From a terraced lawn rose the lofty frame,
A structure whose majesty well became
John's station in life.
        His fashionable wife
Approved this marvel of costly stone;
They dwell, the two, in this prison lone,
With servants to hasten to every call;
But a gloom, a shadow hangs over all
    Alas for John—poor John.

He had craved a position of wealth and power;
Had struggled and hustled hour by hour;
Had worked all day and schemed all night;
And wrought out his schemes by the morning light;
With scarcely a moment to eat or sleep,
With never a thought how best to keep
His youthful strength;
Until at length,
Though courted and flattered on every hand,
He finds with millions at his command,
And servents to haste at his call and beck,
The wonderful home of the soul, a wreck.
        Alas for John—poor John.

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