by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
I gave a beggar from my little store
Of well-earned gold. He spent the shining ore
And came again, and yet again, still cold
And hungry, as before.
I gave a thought, and through that thought of mine
He found himself, the man, supreme, divine!
Fed, clothed, and crowned with blessings manifold.
And now he begs no more.
Source:Poems of Pleasure
Gay And Bird, 22 Bedford Street, Strand, London