Sweet Mercy! how my very heart has bled To see thee, poor Old Man! and thy grey hairs Hoar with the snowy blast: while no one cares To clothe thy shrivelled limbs and palsied head. My Father! throw away this tattered vest That mocks thy shivering! take my garment -- use A young man's arm! I'll melt these frozen dews That hang from thy white beard and numb thy breast. My Sara too shall tend thee, like a Child: And thou shalt talk, in our fire-side's recess, Of purple pride, that scowls on wretchedness. He did not so, the Galilean mild, Who met the Lazars turned from rich men's doors, And called them Friends, and healed their noisome sores! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SYNCOPATED CAKEWALK by CLARENCE MAJOR GROWN-UP TALK by KATHERINE MANSFIELD PEACE (1) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO BAYARD TAYLOR by SIDNEY LANIER SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: BARNEY HAINSFEATHER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS QUI S'EXCUSE S'ACCUSE by MARIANNE MOORE |