To choke the gaping mouth of want.
Fill up! his heart beats quick and high,
The tears stand in his sickly eye;
Poor, wretched, ragged beggar-boy,
He scarce can thank thee now, for joy!
The basket’s heavy; what of that?
His heart is light, he heeds it not;
His feet are cold and bare, poor brat!
But this has always been his lot.
He trudges on, or stops to steal