In the Country

This life is sweetest; in this wood

I hear no children cry for food;

I see no woman, white with care;

No man, with muscles wasting here.

No doubt it is a selfish thing

To fly from human suffering;

No doubt he is a selfish man,

Who shuns poor creatures sad and wan.

But ‘tis a wretched life to face

Hunger in almost every place;

Cursed with a hand that’s empty, when

The heart is full to help all men.

Can I admire the statue great,

When living men starve at its feet!

Can I admire the park’s green tree,

A roof for homeless misery!

When I can see few men in need,

I then have power to help by deed,

Nor lose my cheerfulness in pity-

Which I must do in every city.

For when I am in those great places,

I see ten thousand suffering faces;

Before me stares a wolfish eye,

Behind me creeps a groan or sigh.