Selfish gain, no other,
Is every good’s dear mother.
Delicious joy, once 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
Can 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
Do good and evil rest.

by Robert Hampton Burt

robbysworks.com