Lord, I am poor and desolate!
The beggars at Thy outer gate,
Who cringe to purse-proud passers-by,
Are not more desolate than I.
The rich and proud have passed me there
And gone into Thy House of Prayer,
But I have stretched no pleading palms
To ask their pity or their alms.
And now, before the prayers begin,
I too, O Lord, will enter in
With heart elate, to praise and pray,
As thankful and as blest as they.
They praise Thee in communion sweet
For silks they wear and flesh they eat;
They thank Thee that Thou dost not flout
And leave them as the poor without.
I praise Thee that, for all my cares,
I have a pride that laughs at theirs;
I thank Thee that, though frail I be,
My strength has bowed to none but Thee.
Curse me, O Lord, with want and ill,
But make my spirit strong, and still
Give me, whate’er Thy hand denies,
A soul no swine-trough satisfies.