Pity the sorrow of a poor old man, Whose trembling limbs have brought him to your door.

Alas! for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun. Oh! it was pitiful! Near a whole city full, Home had she none.

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, Heaven did a recompense as largely send; He gave to misery (all he had) a tear, He gain'd from Heaven ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.

He scorn'd his own, who felt another's woe.

Scatter plenty o'er a smiling land.

Gifts and alms are the expressions, not the essence, of this virtue.