Poems (Curwen)/The Cripple
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The Cripple.
AN APPEAL.
Stay! for one moment stay!
Ye who are sound of limb,
Whom God has blest with health,
And hear my plea for him.
Ye who are sound of limb,
Whom God has blest with health,
And hear my plea for him.
Compare your happy lot
With his poor crippled state;
Thank Providence that you
Are spared so sad a fate.
With his poor crippled state;
Thank Providence that you
Are spared so sad a fate.
How sharp the contrast 'twixt
His helpless lot and ours;
What weariness is his,
What pleasure mine and yours.
His helpless lot and ours;
What weariness is his,
What pleasure mine and yours.
Ye, who delight to"trip
The light fantastic toe,"
Or, on the whirling wheel
For healthful spin to go,
The light fantastic toe,"
Or, on the whirling wheel
For healthful spin to go,
Think what a life he has,
How sad, how melancholy,
As he propels his way
Cramped on his little trolley.
How sad, how melancholy,
As he propels his way
Cramped on his little trolley.
Think you if Christ were here,
That He would pass him by?
Nay! the poor blighted form
Would ne'er escape His eye.
That He would pass him by?
Nay! the poor blighted form
Would ne'er escape His eye.
We ask you then for aid,
Not in the cripple's name,
But in the name of Him
Who healed the sick and lame.
Not in the cripple's name,
But in the name of Him
Who healed the sick and lame.
The pence you will not miss
We ask for, not your gold;
Give! and He will return
To you a hundred fold.
We ask for, not your gold;
Give! and He will return
To you a hundred fold.
