Selfish gain, no other,
Is every good's dear mother.
Delicious joy, now sin,
She also put some evil in.

On bottoms of the psyche pits
Is where the murderous ogre sits,
Whose knowing renders good a triviality
And turns our greed for greater gain
   into conviviality.

Sure denial of this truth
May mark the station of a youth
And others, who, at our expense,
Would propagate their innocence.

When neutral manners persevere
Are altruistic matters near.
At that and honesty's behest
Good and evil rest.


by Robert Hampton Burt
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