Wafting sweet odors from the rose;
When birds their gilded plumage wear,
And music floats upon the air;
Oh, then, go see if birds and flowers
Sweeten lone poverty’s dark hours.
When, gathered round your evening meal,
No want is nigh, no need ye feel;
Oh, once forsake the happy spot,
To share the poor man’s bitter lot;
Behold his table scanty spread,