Classic Poem

Still he lingers, where wealth and fashion
Meet together to dine or play—
Lingers, a matter of vague compassion,
Out in the darkness across the way;
Out beyond the warmth and the glitter,
The light where luxury's laughter rings,
Lazarus waits, where the wind is bitter,
Receiving his evil things.

Still ye find him when, breathless, burning,
Summer flames upon square and street,
When the fortunate ones of the earth are turning
Their thoughts to meadows and meadow-sweet;
Far away from the wide green valley,
The bramble patch where the white-throat sings,
Lazarus sweats in his crowded alley,
Receiving his evil things. . . .

In the name of Knowledge the race grows healthier,
In the name of Freedom the world grows great;
And men are wiser, and men are wealthier,
But—Lazarus lies at the rich man's gate.
Lies as he lay through human history,
Fame of heroes and pomp of kings,
At the rich man's gate, an abiding mystery,
Receiving his evil things.