Few, save the poor, feel for the poor: The rich know not how hard It is to be of needful food And needful rest debarred. Their paths are paths of plenteousness, They sleep on silk and down; And never think how heavily The weary head lies down. They know not of the scanty meal, With small pale faces round; No fire upon the cold, damp hearth When snow is on the ground. They never by the window lean, And see the gay pass by; Then take their weary task again, But with a sadder eye.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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