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!—