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Show THE CHILDREN OF THE POOR. CHAULKS HiCSAY. Pity tho children of the poar, Who've nuvcr plucked tho dfliU-, "W'ho'Te nftvtr wntobod the skylark soar, Or heard it singinjr praisfs; Who've never trod the fresh green i-ward, Or raiiiMiid up the river Thoy oi'od a holiday, ye rich, And Mvavbii rewards the giver ! Pity the little pattering feet "J. hat 3warm in fetid alleys, And grimy hands thd.1 might be sweet '.id c.'wslipa of the viilloyB ! Pnle lips that may grow rosy red Where fresh free brce.es ijuiTer ProTide a holiday, ye rich, And Ueaven reward the giver ! Pity the little bright blue eyea That never saw ths ocean, Or gazed with innocent surprise At wild waves in commotion. Send .end them forth one happy day To hill 01 sea or river; 'Tis great to them, but small to you, And Heaven roward the giver I From healthful joy comes wholesome thought And eeuie of nature's boauly, And 'mid instruction, wud em-fraught, Of pity tnd of duty; All withered in the noisomo slums ! Deliver them, deliver! 'Twill cost you little, oh, ye rich, And God reward the giver ! |