EVER the same -- this love of the weak. The wind was so bitter that the Italian mother and child were blown back at the corner... The little boy cried, whimpering against the world ... Quickly the mother took her shabby furs from her neck And wrapped them about her son ... Then they went on, both of them content. We pity ourselves when we pity the frailties of others, We see ourselves in the beggar or the murderer sentenced to be killed; And when we soothe and heal another we are merely laying gentle hands upon our own dark trouble... That which ye do for the least of these, Ye do for me... Who cannot say this, loving the weak? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HYMN TO SCIENCE by MARK AKENSIDE THE VINE by MUHAMMAD AL-MU'TAMID II FRIAR JEROME'S BEAUTIFUL BOOK; A.D. 1200 by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH URANIA; THE WOMAN IN THE MOON: DEDICATION TO LADY PENELOPE DYNHAM by WILLIAM BASSE A SPECK ON THE DOT by BERTON BRALEY MACPHERSON'S [OR M'PHERSON'S] FAREWELL by ROBERT BURNS |