That plenty but reproaches me
Which leaves my neighbor bare.
Not wholly glad my heart can be
While his is bowed with care.
If I go free, and sound, and stout,
While his poor fetters clank,
Unsated still, I'll still cry out,
And plead with Whom I thank.
Almighty, thou who Father be
Of him, of me, of all,
Draw us together, him and me,
That, whichsoever fall,
The other's hand may fail him not--
The other's strength decline
No task of succor that his lot
May claim from son of thine.
I would be fed. I would be clad.
I would be housed and dry.
But if so be my heart is sad--
What benefit have I?
Best he whose shoulders best endure
The load that brings relief;
And best shall be his joy secure
Who shares that joy with grief.
--Edward Sandford Martin.