Sick Man And Angel.

"Is there no hope?" the sick man said.             The silent doctor shook his head,             And took his leave with unfeigned sorrow             To lose a patient on the morrow.             When left alone, the dying man             "Let me review my life" - began;             "My bargains - well, they were well made;             'Tis the necessity of trade -             Necessity is no transgression.             Now for my portion in possession:             My lands and my securities,             They all are right, in every wise.             If justice to myself and heirs             Have done some hardships unawares, -             Left Smith in jail for debt, or sent             The Browns adrift for unpaid rent, -             I've given alms and helped my friends,             What I propose will make amends:             When I am numbered with the dead,             And when my good bequests are read,             Then will be seen and then be known             Benevolence I have not shown."             The angel, present by his side,             Bade him not in such hopes confide:             "What deed have you done worthy praise?             What orphan blesses, widow prays,             To lengthen out your life one year?             If you will now add deeds to prayer -             Your neighbours want, whilst you abound -             Give me a cheque - five hundred pound."             "Where is the haste?" the sick man whines;             "Who knows - who knows what Heaven designs:             That sum, and more, are in my will;             Perhaps I may recover still."             "Fool!" said the angel: "it is plain             That your great happiness was gain;             And after death would fain atone             By giving what is not your own."             "Whilst there is life, there's hope!" he cried;             "Then why such haste?" - he spoke, and died.