TO THE POOR OF LONDON. 
69 
of the paper only, and legibly, as you direct, and in a round 
hand, because mother said that editors and printers could not 
read what I wrote unless I did the spelling right, and the writin 
clear, for they were arbitrary gentlemen, that threw everythin 
they could not understand into a basket to be burnt. I hope you 
will forgive a little girl for writing. 
Olivia Primrose. 
TO THE POOR OF LONDON: 
A MESSAGE FROM THE KYRLE SOCIETY. 
Brothers ! who, in darkness dreary, 
Learn to suffer and to do, — 
“ To the utmost of our power,” 
We would stretch our hands to you. 
Sisters! who, in silent labour. 
Feel the prick of life’s sharp thorn. 
We would share the brighter lesson. 
How its roses may be worn. 
By yon grim wall’s blank denial, 
Where God’s meadows smiled with green ; 
By the foulness and the blackness. 
Where the sunlight poured its sheen ; 
By the sky still bending o’er us ; 
By the breeze that blows for all ; 
By the memories of the beauty. 
That has fled beyond your call ; 
By each faithful heart’s endeavour 
Still to give despair the lie ; 
By the common hopes of England ! 
By the love that cannot die ; 
Brothers ! we will work together ; 
Till the scoffing world shall know. 
That God’s sacred gift of beauty 
Blooms for all who strive below. 
C. E. Maurice. 
ho ho 
