I have a little store;
Yet much I give,
They gather so much a wealth,
My mind never craves;
For the earth will perish,
But love never dies.

The Maker of man is wise,
The rich and the poor,
We are all pilgrims;
Their soul only craves gratification,
Yet, no princely pomp,
And no wealthy store,
Can give that which we own not,
I am at peace with my lot.

I gazed upon the skies,
Much is being done;
Under the sun,
Lies the pains of many;
The earth never has enough for greed,
They gather so much,
I little have, yet I seek no more,
My soul is content,
Beaming with eternal happiness.

Perhaps time will tell,
We all will be there.
Yes, death comes to us all;
The rich and the poor,
Pain and misery are ever-present,
At the door of every man.
As for me, my heart is pure,
I laugh not at another's loss,
That day comes to us all.

I am rich with little store;
Many they have yet still crave.
My mind is must content,
For the earthly bliss
Only last for a night
But love never dies
Perhaps all that we need.

We all can tell,
The abundance of the earth,
Only can meet our needs,
To care and give,
Yet not for our greed,
For what is earthly pleasure?
Wealth or fame?
Certainly, they fade away
Like the stars of the morning
And her glory passing away.