To put new shingles on old roofs; To give old women wadded skirts; To treat premonitory coughs With seasonable flannel shirts; To soothe the stings of poverty And keep the jackal from the door, -- These are the works that occupy The Little Sister of the Poor. She carries, everywhere she goes, Kind words and chickens, jams and coals; Poultices for corporeal woes, And sympathy for downcast souls: Her currant jelly, her quinine, The lips of fever move to bless; She makes the humble sick-room shine With unaccustomed tidiness. A heart of hers the instant twin And vivid counterpart is mine; I also serve my fellow-men, Though in a somewhat different line. The Poor, and their concerns, she has Monopolized, because of which It falls to me to labor as A Little Brother of the Rich. For their sake at no sacrifice Does my devoted spirit quail; I give their horses exercise; As ballast on their yachts I sail. Upon their tallyhos I ride And brave the chances of a storm; I even use my own inside To keep their wines and victuals warm. Those whom we strive to benefit Dear to our hearts soon grow to be; I love my Rich, and I admit That they are very good to me. Succor the Poor, my sisters, -- I, While heaven shall still vouchsafe me health, Will strive to share and mollify The trials of abounding wealth. |