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Poem	A beggar in the street I saw, Who held a hand like withered claw, As cold as clay; But as I had no silver groat To give, I buttoned up my coat And turned away. And then I watched a working wife Who bore the bitter load of life With lagging limb; A penny from her purse she took, And with sweet pity in her look Gave it to him. Anon I spied a shabby dame Who fed six sparrows as they came In famished flight; She was so poor and frail and old, Yet crumbs of her last crust she doled With pure delight. Then sudden in my heart was born For my sleek self a savage scorn,-- Urge to atone; So when a starving cur I saw I bandaged up its bleeding paw And bought a bone. For God knows it is good to give; We may not have so long to live, So if we can, Let's do each day a kindly deed, And stretch a hand to those in need, Bird, beast or man.
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