The Stranger
A STRANGER walked the crowded streets upon the Christmas day
In tattered coat and ragged shoes, with lips so drawn and gray,
That Christian folk who passed him by and saw his patient eyes
Half paused in wonder at the prayer of his dumb miseries.
The stinging wind was bitter keen, and icy sharp the snow,
" But beggar-folk are often shams, and fakirs, don't you know, " —
With half-averted, doubting glance they hurried on their way
While o'er the Stranger's gentle face the veil of sorrow lay:
Not one of all the goodly throng who called upon His name,
That day or ever knew Who passed in lowly weeds of shame.
In tattered coat and ragged shoes, with lips so drawn and gray,
That Christian folk who passed him by and saw his patient eyes
Half paused in wonder at the prayer of his dumb miseries.
The stinging wind was bitter keen, and icy sharp the snow,
" But beggar-folk are often shams, and fakirs, don't you know, " —
With half-averted, doubting glance they hurried on their way
While o'er the Stranger's gentle face the veil of sorrow lay:
Not one of all the goodly throng who called upon His name,
That day or ever knew Who passed in lowly weeds of shame.
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