English poem
True Benevolence
by Anonymous
The other day, says Ned to Joe, (Near Bedlam's confines passing) 'Whene'er I hear the cries of woe, 'My hand is always open.'
'I own,' says Joe, 'that to the poor, '(You prove it every minute) 'Your hand is open to be sure; 'But then, there's nothing in it.'