Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ALMS-GIVING, by RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ALMS-GIVING, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: When poverty, with mien of shame
Last Line: They break it as a slave his chains!
Alternate Author Name(s): Houghton, 1st Baron; Houghton, Lord
Subject(s): Charity; Philanthropy


WHEN Poverty, with mien of shame,
The sense of Pity seeks to touch, --
Or, bolder, makes the simple claim
That I have nothing, you have much, --
Believe not either man or book
That bids you close the opening hand,
And with reproving speech and look
Your first and free intent withstand.

It may be that the tale you hear
Of pressing wants and losses borne
Is heaped or color'd for your ear,
And tatters for the purpose worn
But surely Poverty has not
A sadder need than this, to wear
A mask still meaner than her lot,
Compassion's scanty food to share.

It may be that you err to give
What will but tempt to further spoil
Those who in low content would live
On theft of others' time and toil;
Yet sickness may have broke or bent
The active frame or vigorous will, --
Or hard occasion may prevent
Their exercise of humble skill.

It may be that the suppliant's life
Has lain on many an evil way
Of foul delight and brutal strife,
And lawless deeds that shun the day;
But how can any gauge of yours
The depth of that temptation try?
-- What man resists -- what man endures --
Is open to one only eye.

Why not believe the homely letter
That all you give will God restore?
The poor man may deserve it better,
And surely, surely, wants it more:
Let but the rich man do his part,
And whatsoe'er the issue be
To those who ask, his answering heart
Will gain and grow in sympathy.

-- Suppose that each from Nature got
Bare quittance of his labour's worth,
That yearly-teeming flocks were not,
Nor manifold-producing earth;
No wilding growths of fruit and flower,
Cultured to beautiful and good,
No creatures for the arm of power
To take and tame from waste and wood! --

That all men to their mortal rest
Passed shadow-like, and left behind
No free result, no clear bequest,
Won by their work of hand or mind!
That every separate life begun,
A present to the past unbound,
A lonely, independent, One,
Sprung from the cold mechanic ground!

What would the record of the past,
The vision of the future be?
Nature unchanged from first to last,
And base the best humanity:
For in these gifts lies all the space
Between our England's noblest men,
And the most vile Australian race
Outprowling from their bushy den.

Then freely as from age to age,
Descending generations bear
The accumulated heritage
Of friendly and parental care, --
Freely as Nature tends her wealth
Of air and fire, of sea and land,
Of childhood's happiness and health,
So freely open you your hand!

-- Between you and your best intent
Necessity her brazen bar
Will often interpose, as sent
Your pure benevolence to mar:
Still every gentle word has sway
To teach the pauper's desperate mood,
That Misery shall not take away
Franchise of human brotherhood.

And if this lesson come too late,
Woe to the rich and poor and all!
The maddened outcast of the gate
Plunders and murders in the hall;
Justice can crush and hold in awe,
While Hope in social order reigns, --
But if the myriads break the law,
They break it as a slave his chains!





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