Wilmington journal. [volume] (Wilmington, N.C.) 1844-1895, 1868-11-20
--.-.-= For the Journal.
THE POOR: OUR POOR!
MON0NIA.

For the oppression OF the poor, for the sig6ing
OF the needy, now will arise, saith the Lord
will set hin in safety from ham that puheth &c
him DaUid. Psalm KILL 5.
Kindness is the watchful angel that God
has sent from Heaven to walk on earth
among men. It is not shadow but SUBJ
stance. Tt is that unntterable love which
is deep in the hearts of the good, and
which pours cut healing balm, holy
| Joy, upon the houseless, the fatherless, and
the friendless-the poverty-stricken of the
community. She uses the gentlest words ;
is most graciously liberal and generous in
strewing about her the benefcence of her
sister, Charity. She is the frst-born of
Christianity, and dispenses her blessings
as softly as falls the dew on the mountain
! of Hermon. She is an evergreen. Sho
| instructs She clothes. She feeds. She
is the brightest and purest flower in the
garden of Jesus. Of Faith and Hope she
path. Sunshine falls in her way and makes
the people to rejoice and be glad. The
ljoyless wintry winds disappear. The pitt
less storm becomes stilled. She is present
all is silent. She smiles-all is bright.
She laughs-all is merry. The feshless
hand of perjury receives her gift and de-
parts with lighter heart Where Charity
u.s. is found q Heaven. Where she is not,
is Darkness.
It is said that the poor and the children
alone know the form of hospitality. They
are simple in words. They are pure as to
conventionalities They are the chosen
of Christ He suffered the little ones to
come to him, and the poor in spirit, for
theirs is the Kingdom of God. The goodly
times Of old, when grandma sat at the spin
ming wheel ; and puss played in the corner;
when ma knit, and pa read aloud, and
grandpa smoked his long clay pipe, and
the little ones skipped about the floor or
sat at the feet of their parents, are drift
ing, drifting away. The knock came to the
door, Merrily ran the bue-eyed little
daughter. Only a stranger without. Only
a homeless wanderer Only child with
out food all day. Only an old woman
in rags Only grey hairs in poverty.
Only starving wretch. Only a Grip
pie and pauper. Only shivering,
friendess being. Only a plaintive cry.
Only u croaking voice. Only q feeble
vail. Only pItying demand: Bread
Bread Bread /! The cold cup of water
The flung away garment The old pair
OF shoes The small crust to keep me from
starving! 4 shelter from the snow drift
and blast A supper, and a lodging fol
the might, for Gods sake The tender
child sees the distress. Her little heart
Swells to do good. Her little eyes FL up
with tears Her little hands are clasped
in deep pity. Ma ! Ma ! Come to the
door. Ma! Ma feed the hungry man.
Pa pa keep him tonight. I'll give him
my room The light little face is all joy.
Its swee. little doves eyes are dim. It's
thrilling low voice sinks to the ground
and raises up the sorely afflicted, AMI
lends words of comfort and cheer. . for
those goodly days OF yu.e when tle cold,
proud eye was never cast on the pnoR 0
for the noble souls that never tired in i'm
itating the Christ, the God, IN qoing about
doing gooI' The little ones are little ones
still. Are they hedged in the narrow circle
of modern society Are they taught to
despise the lowly, the suffering members
Of the Saviour Are their little hands now
never raised to do the pure act of kind
ness? Are their little Savings now con-
sulned in the toyshop, and candy store
Are our modern misses too fond of the ex-
ira curl which empty heads so much ad-
even tops despise ? Are there too many
popiniays 10 the world -?
Bread Bread Bread Only shovel of
coal! Only stick of wood! I'm shivering,
hungry and weary, dying for want of bread.
Bread Bread Bread !! Wood Wood
[ live in a shanty bit twelve feet by five.
Ny aged and infrm wife is lying half dead
in her rags No bed-covering. No fire,
and nothing to eat. The boards of my
dwelling are rotten with damp. The
chinks are many and large. The fever is
fast in my bones. I'm sick and I'm weary,
and wishing for death. Bread for my
starving mother. Medicine and fuel for
my furnishing wife. Something to cover
us from the wintry blast
The other DAY we had occasion to visit
family on the outskirts of the city. The
sight was truly pitiful, and it filed our soul
with sorrow. poor, grey-headed woman
lay sick Of the fever on rotten, mouldy
floor. She had hardly any bedding, and
such as she had was of filthy, sour rags.
Her two grown-up sons, half naked, sat at
her head, one On each side. The husband,
man feeble and then shaking with the
''chills, stood at her feet No fire was
on the hearth. No food was in that rotten
box, for it cannot be called house. We
admired the flial piety. Their only CRY
was "my poor motherr' They had been
working in factory, but sickness came
and their dollar and quarter day were
| lost to them, All were shaking