Poems (Henderson)/Penniless

by Elizabeth Henderson

PENNILESS.

Heart-sick and weary, and penniless too,
Starving and toiling for bread,
Rain beating down on the curtainless pane,
Beating down too, on the dead,
Who lie in their graves and feel not the grip;
Of Poverty's unyielding hand,
Sorrow and misery mocking the name,
Of Christ in a Christian land.

Here in a garret with only a crust,
Babes wailing with hunger and cold,
Over the way there's plenty and wealth,
And beauty that's bartered for gold.
Even the heaven is clouded and black,
And the muddy roofs drip with the rain,
And the voice of the tempter comes echoing back,
"Why suffer and toil in pain."

"Broad the way, and its pleasures are sweet,
Flowered with plenty, and gold
Rise, Rise and away, and find thy delight
For there is but one life, Oh! soul."
Coffined and shrouded, the dead father's face,
Closed are the beautiful eyes,
But high in the heaven he dwelleth, and here,
Here are the treasures he prized.

Satan, begone! the Father in heaven,
Guideth the wind and the rain,
What he hath taken in mercy away,
He giveth in Heaven again.