Charity

I

Unarmed she goeth; yet her hands
Strike deeper awe than steel-caparison'd bands.
No fatal hurt of foe she fears, -
Veiled, as with mail, in mist of gentle tears.


II

'Gainst her thou canst not bar the door:
Like air she enters, where none dared before.
Even to the rich she can forgive
Their regal selfishness, - and let them live!

George Parsons Lathrop

George Parsons Lathrop (August 25, 1851 – April 19, 1898) was an American poet, novelist, and editor. He was closely associated with the literary world of New England and was a prominent figure in the late 19th century. Lathrop was also known for his marriage to Rose Hawthorne, the daughter of famed novelist Nathaniel Hawthorne, and for his efforts in editing and preserving Hawthorne's works. His contributions spanned various literary forms including poetry and prose.

George Parsons Lathrop

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English

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Charity.

("Je suis la Charité.")

[February, 1837.]


"Lo! I am Charity," she cries,
"Who waketh up before the day;
While yet asleep all nature lies,
God bids me rise and go my way."

How fair her glorious features shine,
Whereon the hand of God hath set
An angel's attributes divine,
With all a woman's sweetness met.

Above the old man's couch of woe
She bows her forehead, pure and even.
There's nothing fairer here below,
There's nothing grander up in heaven,

Than when caressingly she stands
(The cold hearts wakening 'gain their beat),
And holds within her holy hands
The little children's naked feet.

To every den of want and toil
She goes, and leaves the poorest fed;
Leaves wine and bread, and genial oil,<...

Victor-Marie Hugo

Charity : A Paraphrase On 1 Cor. Chap. 13

Did sweeter Sounds adorn my flowing Tongue,
Than ever Man pronounc'd, or Angel sung:
Had I all Knowledge, Human and Divine,
That Thought can reach, or Science can define;
And had I Pow'r to give that Knowledge Birth,
In all the Speeches of the babbling Earth:
DidShadrach's Zeal my glowing Breast inspire,
To weary Tortures, and rejoice in Fire:
Or had I Faith like That whichIsrael saw,
WhenMoses gave them Miracles, and Law:

Yet, graciousCharity, indulgent Guest,
Were not Thy Pow'r exerted in my Breast;
Those Speeches would send up unheeded Pray'r:
That Scorn of Life would be but wild Despair:
A Tymbal's Sound were better than my Voice:
My Faith were Form: my Eloquence were Noise.
Charity, decent, modest, easy, kind,
Softens the high, and rears the ab...

Matthew Prior

The Trust.

    We steal the brawn, we steal the brain;
    The man beneath us in the fight
    Soon learns how helpless and how vain
    To plead for justice or for right.
    We steal the youth, we steal the health,
    Hope, courage, aspiration high;
    We steal men's all to make for wealth -
    We will repent us by and by.

    Meantime, a gift will heaven appease -
    Great God, forgive our charities!

    We steal the children's laughter shrill,
    We steal their joys e'er they can taste,
    "Why skip like young lambs on a hill?
    Go, get ye to your task in haste."
    No matter that they droop and tire,
    That heaven cries out against the sin,
    The gold, red gold, that we desire
    Their dimpled hands must help to win.

    A c...

Jean Blewett

Countess's Pillar

While the Poor gather round, till the end of time
May this bright flower of Charity display
Its bloom, unfolding at the appointed day;
Flower than the loveliest of the vernal prime
Lovelier, transplanted from heaven's purest clime!
"Charity never faileth:" on that creed,
More than on written testament or deed,
The pious Lady built with hope sublime.
Alms on this stone to be dealt out, 'for ever!'
"Laus Deo." Many a Stranger passing by
Has with that Parting mixed a filial sigh,
Blest its humane Memorials fond endeavour;
And, fastening on those lines an eye tear-glazed,
Has ended, though no Clerk, with "God be praised!"

William Wordsworth

Hymn on Charity.

Nor faith, nor hope, whate'er their force,
Can aught avail the soul,
Should charity not guide its course
To glory's heavenly goal.
The songs of wisdom, tho' they soar
To notes that seraphs swell,
If she be wanting, are no more
Than folly's tinkling bell.

A thousand shapes, as bright as morn,
Sweet Charity assumes,
And all the hues of Heaven adorn
Her variegated plumes.
'Tis she with consolation's voice
That stills affliction's storm,
She bids despairing want rejoice
In bounty's radiant form.

But with what semblance is she seen,
That more her power endears,
Than when with mild instruction's mien
Her infant train she rears?
Then she the earth-bound spirit lifts
Above the valley's clod,
Then gives the richest of her gifts...

William Hayley

Charity

Bear and forbear, I counsel thee,
Forgive and be forgiven,
For Charity is the golden key
That opens the gate of heaven.

Hanford Lennox Gordon