The Beggar

Encouraged by thy word Of promise to the poor, Behold a beggar, Lord, Waits at thy mercy’s door! No hand, no heart, O Lord, but thine, Can help or pity wants like mine.

The beggar’s usual plea, Relief from men to gain, If offer’d unto thee, I know thou wouldst disdain; And pleas which move thy gracious ear Are such as men would scorn to hear.

I have no right to say, That though I now am poor, Yet once there was a day When I possessed more: Thou know’st that from my very birth I’ve been the poorest wretch on earth.

Nor can I dare profess, As beggars often do, Though great is my distress, My faults have been but few: If thou shouldst leave my soul to starve, It would be what I well deserve.

’Twere folly to pretend I never begg’d before; Or if thou now befriend, I’ll trouble thee no more; Thou often hast relieved my pain, And often I must come again.

Though crumbs are much too good For such a dog as I, No less than children’s food My soul can satisfy. O do not frown and bid me go— I must have all thou canst bestow!

Nor can I willing be Thy bounty to conceal From others who, like me, Their wants and hunger feel: I’ll tell them of thy mercy’s store, And try to send a thousand more.

Thy thoughts, thou Only Wise, Our thoughts and ways transcend, Far as the arched skies Above the earth extend: Such pleas as mine men would not bear, But God receives a beggar’s pray’r.