 | Poems by Miss H. F. Gould |  |
28
WHO IS MY NEIGHBOR?
Who is thy neighbor?—see him stand,
With sunken cheek and eye!
Where hunger shows the empty hand
Thy bounty can supply!
Look where the widowed mother pines
For what thou well canst spare;
Where palsied age, in want, reclines,
And see thy neighbor there!
With sunken cheek and eye!
Where hunger shows the empty hand
Thy bounty can supply!
Look where the widowed mother pines
For what thou well canst spare;
Where palsied age, in want, reclines,
And see thy neighbor there!
Behold him in the stranger, thrown
Upon a foreign shore,
Who, homeless, friendless, and alone,
Is shivering at thy door!
Go meet him in thine enemy,
And good for evil pay;
And bear in mind, for such as he,
Thy Saviour bids thee pray.
Upon a foreign shore,
Who, homeless, friendless, and alone,
Is shivering at thy door!
Go meet him in thine enemy,
And good for evil pay;
And bear in mind, for such as he,
Thy Saviour bids thee pray.
Go seek him in the dungeon's night,
And comfort there impart;
Implore the smile of Heaven to light
That desolated heart.
Look where the son of Afric sighs
For rights enjoyed by thee;
He is thy neighbor!—loose his ties,
And set the captive free!
And comfort there impart;
Implore the smile of Heaven to light
That desolated heart.
Look where the son of Afric sighs
For rights enjoyed by thee;
He is thy neighbor!—loose his ties,
And set the captive free!
29
Columbia, favored of the skies!
How can thy banner wave,
While at thy feet thy neighbor lies
A crushed and fettered slave?
There is a blot among its stars;
A stain upon thy hand;
A mark upon thy face, that mars
The beauty of our land.
How can thy banner wave,
While at thy feet thy neighbor lies
A crushed and fettered slave?
There is a blot among its stars;
A stain upon thy hand;
A mark upon thy face, that mars
The beauty of our land.
Thou, noble tree of liberty,
Should not thy verdure fade
O'er him, who would his neighbor see
Excluded from thy shade?
Did they, who reared thee by their toil,
Not will thy fruit to be,
Alike for all, who tread thy soil,
A harvest sweet and free?
Should not thy verdure fade
O'er him, who would his neighbor see
Excluded from thy shade?
Did they, who reared thee by their toil,
Not will thy fruit to be,
Alike for all, who tread thy soil,
A harvest sweet and free?
| Poems by Miss H. F. Gould | |