Poems (Acton)/The Poor Man's Prayer

THE POOR MAN'S PRAYER. ——

There is a tale of fervent faith
 Within that prayer so often said;
And yet, so oft unheedingly—
 "Each day give us our daily bread."

It stealeth forth from many a lip,
 That's decked with smiles—perchance unheard
On ears that drink but sounds of joy,
 It falleth as an empty word.

How should there be in lightsome hearts
 A vision of their mirth's decay?
How should the child of wealth have need
 For "daily bread" to kneel and pray?

It is not these who kneel with faith,
 To crave the food they must obtain;
It is not faith to pray, and know
 Each day must bring but joys again.

Go 'neath the poor man's cheerless roof,
 Where Care's gaunt form hath gone before;
Where Want's chill breath is ever felt;
 Where Joy, if e'er it was, is o'er.

Look on young eyes which should be bright,
 On drooping forms which should be proud:
On aged locks, by sorrow thinned,
 By all the heart's stern anguish bowed.

Oh! it is these who pray with faith,
 For means to keep from sin and shame;
Who crave for what a thousand deem,
 In pride of wealth, an empty name!

And shall no kindly hand be stretched,
 In this, our land of boasted worth,
To save, from ruin and disgrace,
 Our fellow-pilgrims upon earth?

Turn! oh, ye high ones! ye that share
 The "common lot" with each of those,
Whose fate, so widely differing now,
 Will be as yours when life shall close.

Turn! and the pity here ye shew
 May win ye blessings, which shall cling
Around your memory on that day,
 Far above every earthly thing.

Scorn not the poor! The heart you crush
 Can feel, as yours, a blighting word;
And it may be, his prayer, before
 Your own, for pardon, shall be heard!

Oh! ye should glory that your gold
 Can lighten some lone hearts of pain;
When many, that the world deems blest,
 Are yearning for such peace in vain.

Have pity, then! Be yours the hand
 To turn destruction from its prey.
One mite from out your store can make
 How many tears to pass away.

Oh! answer ye the prayer that bursts
 In anguish from the stricken heart,
And triumph that it is for man,
 To say to misery, "Depart!"

And in the poor man's prayer, for you
 A blessing shall ascend on high,
To soothe your chequered path on earth,
 And win for you eternity.
R. A.