I lay in sorrow, deep depressed…
My grief a proud man heard…
His looks were cold. He gave me gold.
But not a kindly word.
My sorrow passed – I paid him back.
The gold he gave me.
Then stood erect and spoke my thanks
And blesses his charity…
I lay in want, in grief and pain.
A poor man passed my way.
He bound my head. He gave me bread.
He watched me night and day.
How shall I pay him back again
For all he did to me?
Oh! Gold is great. But greater far
Is heavenly sympathy!
By Charles Mackay
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