Sympathy
by Charles Mackay
I lay in sorrow, deep distressed...
My grief a proud man heard...
His looks were cold. He gave me gold;
But not a kindly word.
My sorrow passed - I paid him back.
The gold he gave to me
Then stood erect and spoke my thanks And
blesses his charity...
I lay in want, in grief and pain.
A poor man passed my way:
He bound my head. He gave me bread,
He watched me night and day.
How shall I pay him back again
For all he did to me?
Oh! Gold is great. But greater far
is heavenly sympathy.