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James Russell Lowell - A Contrast
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Thy love thou sendest oft to me,
  And still as oft I thrust it back;
Thy messengers I could not see
  In those who everything did lack,
  The poor, the outcast and the black.

Pride held his hand before mine eyes,
  The world with flattery stuffed mine ears;
I looked to see a monarch`s guise,
  Nor dreamed thy love would knock for years,
  Poor, naked, fettered, full of tears.

Yet, when I sent my love to thee,
  Thou with a smile didst take it in,
And entertain`dst it royally,
  Though grimed with earth, with hunger thin,
  And leprous with the taint of sin.

Now every day thy love I meet,
  As o`er the earth it wanders wide,
With weary step and bleeding feet,
  Still knocking at the heart of pride
  And offering grace, though still denied.
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