The Claims of the Poor

The ar­rowy sleet

and win­ter wind

That beat against our latch­èd door

With plaint­ive voic­es call to mind

The wants and sor­rows of the poor.

Can we en­joy our Christ­mas home

Its cheer­ful fire

and ta­ble spread

Yet light­ly think of those that roam

Without

un­shel­tered and un­fed?

We all need kind­ness: who shall say

But he may come at last to crave

Relief along the rug­ged way

That leads through trou­ble to the grave?

Then love the poor; and ope your hand

Not grudg­ing­ly but with good will

And suf­fer not the needy band

To stand un­helped and shiv­er­ing still.

For ’tis a bless­èd thing in­deed

Which not e’en mon­archs should des­pise

When men of wealth and good­ness read

Their his­to­ry in the poor man’s eyes.

Now change the view; and who shall dare

To treat with in­sult or ne­glect

Those whom the Lord hath made His care

And whom He sure­ly will pro­tect?

Turn to the words of sac­red lore

And mark how ful­ly they dis­close

His will

who car­eth for the poor

And tak­eth ven­geance on their foes.

See what a hedge He hath sup­plied

And made the suf­fer­ers’ cause His own

Lest fierce­ness

or the foot of pride

Should hurt the poor

or cast them down.

Hath He not sent His on­ly Son

To share and thus to sanc­ti­fy

A state that need bring shame to none

The state of low­ly po­ver­ty?

Yes

Christ en­dured the shame and loss;

And His cold home at Beth­le­hem

The mount­ains bare

the pain­ful cross

May teach the poor He cared for them.

Foxes had holes

the bird its nest;

But while each crea­ture found a bed

The Sav­ior had no place of rest

Whereon to lay His wea­ry head.

O hon­or then your mak­er’s name;

And love the poor

lest ye be found

Reproaching Him who poor be­came

That ye in rich­es might abound.