GIVE, AND STAY THEIR MISERY.

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 muffled forms are hurrying past, And then his portion see. Come with me through the narrow lanes To dwellings dark and damp, Where poor men strive to ease their pains; Where, by a feeble lamp, The wearied, widowed mother long Doth busy needle ply, Whilst at her feet her children throng, And for a morsel cry. Come with me thou 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.