AT NAZARETH HOUSE.
O wealthy and world-weary triflers, O idle and opulent folk,
For whom time is a foe to be slain, and life's self but a bore or a joke,
Take yourselves, and your hearts, and your purses to Nazareth House and behold
The brave service of well-bestowed time, the brave uses of well-applied gold!
Where is Nazareth House, then, and what? 'Tis in Hammersmith, Madam, a place
That you probably seldom illume with the light of your beautiful face.
But what? That's a far larger question, full answer to which would take time.
Far better go see for yourself. If there's aught of the moral sublime
In these gold-grubbing days, 'tis in scenes where love-service unbought and unpaid—
A vastly unbusiness-like thing in the eyes of the vassals of Trade!—
Is devoted in silence unseen to the outcast, the old, and the poor.
Five hundred such waifs are here housed, and they yearn to find refuge for more!
That's the pith of the matter, dear Madam! And as for the rest, I've returned
From a visit, and fancy your heart, like my own, would have lightened and burned!
Had you walked through the wards, as I walked, with a Sister as frank and unfeigned
As sweet Charity's servant should be. There was nothing o'er piously strained
In this unrigid Refuge for helplessness. Cheeriness, confidence, mirth
Seemed to reign in these child-crowded rooms—in these wards where the aged, whose birth
Dated well-nigh a century back, whether sewing, or smoking, or prone
On the pallet of sickness, all smiled, and no soul seemed forlorn or alone.
How they sang, those close clustering toddlers, their curly heads tier above tier,
With never a trace of restraint, and unknowing the shadow of fear!
Here timidity checks not the young, and here weariness haunts not the old.
There is laughter on age-shrivelled lips, and the eyes of mere babies are bold
With the confidence born but of love. Even imbeciles, helpless and blind,
Shut out at each sense from full life, yet can feel unseen tendance is kind,
And sit silently placid, or burst into song of a heart-searching sort—
Muffled speech from unplumbed spirit-depths, yet inspired by the impulse of sport.
Have a chat, my dear Madam—shrink not, they are women!—with age-wrinkled dames,
Who are busily bed-quilting here, while the Autumn sun ruddily flames
On the walls from the liberal windows. Bestow but a smile and a jest,
They'll respond with a jest and a smile, for there's life in each age-burdened breast,
And confidence, comfort, and cheer. Here again clustered close round the fire
Are a number of grizzle-look'd men, every one is a true "hoary sire,"
Bowed, time-beaten, grey, yet alert and responsive to kindness of speech;
And see how old eyes can light up if you promise a pipe-charge a-piece.
For the comforting weed KINGSLEY eulogised is not taboo in this place,
Where the whiff aromatic brings not cold reproval to Charity's face.
Ah! the tale is o'erlong for full telling; but never a bright afternoon
In London's chill leaf-strewn October was better bestowed. 'Tis a boon
To be able to speak on behalf of Samaritan kindness so schemed,
In a way in which lovers of man, not of mummeries, ever have dreamed.
On such wise, wide, benevolent lines, with no bondage of class or of creed.
But the helpless Five Hundred still swell, and the Sisterhood feel sorest need
Of enlarging their borders and branches. The children especially swarm,
And for every poor, pale, helpless mite, who can here find a pallet and form,
Home, food, clothing, schooling, life-settlement, love, there are hundreds for whom
And their piteous appeal the response must unwillingly come, "No more room!",
Room, not in their hearts but their wards is this unselfish Sisterhood's lack;
There you, my dear Madam, can help, if your purse-strings a little you'll slack.
The Home for Poor Age, Helpless Childhood, Incurable Sickness, depends
Not on fees or on wealthy endowments, but alms and free service of friends.
Gifts, not only of money, but garments and furniture, beds, tables, chairs,
The Nazareth ladies will welcome—Come! Is there a Christian who cares
For God's poor and the Christ-welcomed children, who will not respond in some way
To the modest appeal of these ladies, who care for the Waif and the Stray?