Towards the poor thy heart would glow
Although his wants ne’er found a voice.
Ah, sooner lose a pound of gold
Than take to thee an ounce of sin,—
The waters shall bring manifold
For all thy treasures cast therein!
I saw the gentle who was poor,
And he was full of gloom and grief,
He passed the once wide-opened door
Where now no more he finds relief!