Would ye who live in palace halls, 
With servants round to wait, 
Know aught of him who craving falls 
Before thine outer gate ? 
Come with me when the piercing blast 
Is whistling wild and free; 
When mufded forms are hurrying past. 
And then his portion see. 
I >11 lead thee through the narrow lanes. 
To a dwelling dark and damp, 
IVhere the poor man strives to ease his pains; 
Where by a feeble lamp 
The worse than widowed mother, long 
Doth her busy needle ply. 
Whilst round her, children anxious throng. 
And for a morsel cry. 
Come with me then in such an hour. 
To such a place, and see 
That He who gave thee wealth, gave power 
To stay such misery; 
Come with me, — nor with empty hand 
Ope’ thou the poor man’s door; 
Come, with the produce of thy land, 
And thou shalt gather more. J. S. Adams. 
