The pauper-palace which they hate to see;
That giant-building, that high-bounding wall,
Those bare-worn walks, that lofty thund'ring hall!
That large loud clock, which tolls each dreaded hour;
Those gates and locks, and all those signs of power:
It is a prison, with a milder name,
Which few inhabit without dread or shame.
Be it agreed—the poor who hither come
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Partake of plenty, seldom found at home;