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.