Hath drank its flood.
Though helpless childhood ask—O pitying Heaven!—
The merest crumb which falls upon the floor,
Tho’ faint and famished, bread must not be given,
Bolt fast the door.
And must it be, thou just and holy God!
That in our midst thy peeled and stricken poor
Shall kneel and plead amid their tears and blood,
For evermore?
Shall those whom thou hast sent baptized from heaven,