On the Hall of Precious Virtue
The cock crows—cock-a-doodle-doo!—the east grows bright;
from every house, people rush out to slave for profit!
They dash to the east, hustle to the west,
tumbling over each other:
thousands of dollars? tens of thousands? No amount is enough!
In your noble hall you sit calmly, not doing a thing;
clumps of green trees overhang limpid wavelets.
Wearing colorful clothes, you pour wine
for your compassionate father:
elder brothers and younger brothers, all truly happy.
In human life, poverty doesn't matter if the Way is present:
a mountain of yellow gold is no treasure at all.
from every house, people rush out to slave for profit!
They dash to the east, hustle to the west,
tumbling over each other:
thousands of dollars? tens of thousands? No amount is enough!
In your noble hall you sit calmly, not doing a thing;
clumps of green trees overhang limpid wavelets.
Wearing colorful clothes, you pour wine
for your compassionate father:
elder brothers and younger brothers, all truly happy.
In human life, poverty doesn't matter if the Way is present:
a mountain of yellow gold is no treasure at all.
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