He looks for a lowly lodging,
When there comes a piteous cry
From a woman, “I am starving,
Help me, sir, or I shall die!”
Chorus.
He thinks of that coin, his night’s lodging ’twill pay,
Then looks on that face and its tresses so gray,
Then in charity gives his last penny away,
Actions speak louder than words.
From the club at early morning,