A Poem About Being Rich

Be inspired by this poem about being rich. Many people think being rich means having lots of money. But there is one thing that money cannot buy and that is family, health, and a happy home. Strickland Gillilan's poem points out how often we judge others and wonder how can they possibly be happy working for a minimum wage.

The first stanza is one where a person is questioning how can a person look forward when they are making such a low wage. But then, the second stanza sees the power of family and the joy that children can bring.

The third stanza is one that reflects a happy home and a grateful heart. One that thanks is given daily for what we have. The person in this poem never takes for granted the health and happiness in their life - thanks is given daily. It should be noted that a thankful heart for what we have is one that changes our outlook and can bring a peace, a sense of contentment into our lives.

And the fourth stanza is the key to the whole thought of being rich. Even if we are not making a huge salary, if we have a family that loves us and that family is healthy we have riches beyond what some only dream of. The wealthiest of men can also be the unhappiest of men. And their families can have many issues. We sometimes think the grass is greener on the other side - making more money, working more hours, will bring happiness. But the wealthiest of men sometimes sacrifice family to achieve what - money? What does money do if you don't have family or those that love you for what you are? What does money do if you don't have your health?

May you be encouraged by this poem and may it be a reminder to count the blessing of family each and every day.

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by Strickland Gillilan

I knew he toiled for a modest wage,
As living costs in the present age.
And I asked myself, in accents grim:
"What can existence hold for him?"

One day when the afternoon grew late
I saw him enter a little gate,
Saw a baby, wild in its young delight,
Come running to him, with all its might,
Clasp him and kiss him and call him "Dad" -
Thus I caught a glimpse of the wealth he had.

And later I learned, convincingly,
That a true, contented wife had he;
That he owned the home where his loved ones dwelt;
That in quaint, old-fashioned way he knelt
Once every day, at the very least;
That he bowed his head o'er each humble feast
The good God gave; that they all had health -
So I knew he was blessed with boundless wealth.

Though still he works for a meager wage,
As living costs in this present age,
I ask no more, in accents grim,
What existence can hold for him.
He has done the things that men were made for;
Has what some men their souls would trade for -
What men of "wealth," unheard, have prayed for.

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Another poem by Strickland Gillilan about money but from a child's perspective:

His Dollar
by Strickland Gillilan

In the pocket of his waist is a dollar, safe and sound,
Wrapped up in an envelope, with his handkerchief around.
When he's gone to bed at night and he's 'most asleep, he'll say
"Where's my dollar are you sure it is safely put away?"

Walking with me down the street, when he stooped to tie his shoe
Out upon the pavement fell his big dollar bright and new.
But we got it back again ere it found the grimy ditch
And once more he wrapped it up and just went on feeling rich.

He has told me what he'll buy with his dollar, pretty soon.
He will buy a motor boat and will take me, some forenoon,
"Cross the ocean to the place where the King of Europe is."
There is nothing he can't do with that boundless wealth of his.

He is mine and dear to me, and no joy from him I'd keep,
Yet some night when he's in bed wrapped in sweet and dreamless sleep
I would rob that child of mine of his dollar, if I knew
I could steal, along with it, his belief in what 'twould do.

And, one more poem by Strickland Gillilan about a man that lost everything:

 A Genuine Man
by Strickland Gillilan

Some days ago I met a man who'd known
The very best of life's material things
A servant-crowded palace of his own,
Fine clothing all that lavish fortune flings
Before the rich. And he had lost it all,
Through fault of others. Yet his head was high,
Within his spirit dwelt no trace of gall,
A smile was on his lips, his orbs were dry.

He welcomed me into his home as though
It were a grander palace and it was!
The spirit of its tenant lent a glow
To everything, and hid whatever flaws
There may have been. Scorning apologies
He welcomed me as but the kingly can.
That night my soul got down upon its knees
And thanked its God that we had seen a Man!

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