Here you will find the Poem The Poor of poet Jones Very
I walk the streets and though not meanly drest, Yet none so poor as can with me compare; For none though weary call me into rest, And though I hunger, none their substance share; I ask not for my stay the broken reed, That fails when most I want a friendly arm; I cannot on the loaves and fishes feed That want the blessing that they may not harm; I only ask the living word to hear From tongues that now but speak to utter death; I thirst for one cool cup of water clear But drink the riled stream of lying breath; And wander on though in my Fatherland, Yet hear no welcome voice and see no beckoning hand.
