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Poem	A beautiful form and a beautiful face, A winsome bride and a woman's grace, So fair and sweet it were heaven indeed For man to follow where she would lead. A web of lace and a jeweled hand, And life is changed by a golden band; A dream of love and a wealth of gold— The old new story once more is told. A wealth of flowers and a robe of snow, A beauteous woman with cheeks aglow; A train of satin that sweeps the floor— And life is altered forevermore. A beautiful scene on this Christmas eve, Where all could linger and none could grieve, A dazzling vision of wealth and pride, A royal feast and a happy bride. But turn your steps to the lonely street, Where fierce winds mutter and wild storms beat; And come with me to the haunts of woe Where life is a burden and hopes are low. Look on this woman, so thin and white; You close your eyes—'tis a dreadful sight; But shudder not—she is cold and dead— And died, oh men! for a CRUST OF BREAD. So young and hopeless, oh! God above, With none to comfort and none to love; A tortured soul and a hungry cry That rang unheard through the stormy sky. While, oh! so near in the gloomy night Lay rescue and love and warmth and light; And oh! so near to the longing eyes, There gleamed the bright depths of a paradise. Oh! look on this picture, thou fair young bride, For one poor morsel of bread she died; One glittering gem from your breast or hair, Could have saved this woman who lieth there. One costly spray of your flowers bright Could have bought the food that she craved this night; One drop of love from your boundless store Her soul could have saved forevermore. Oh, sadd'ning picture, this Christmas eve,— For thy sad story the angels grieve; To think in this city of wealth and might A woman perished for BREAD, this night.
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