Help them get out; help them keep out! Labor to teach them what life is about; Give them a hand unencumbered with doubt; Feed them and clothe them, but pilot them out! Mortals depraved, whatsoe'er they have been, Soonest can mend from assistance _within_. Warm them and feed them--they're beasts, even then; Teach them and love them--they grow into men. You who 'mid luxuries costly and grand Decorate homes with munificent hand, Use, in some measure, your exquisite arts For the improvement of minds and of hearts. Lilies must grow up from below, Where the strong rootlets are twining about; Goodness and honesty ever must flow From the heart-centres--to blossom without. [_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._] FEBRUARY 28, 18--. Wind in the west; no symptoms of a thaw; The coldest, bleakest day I ever saw. And I'm housed up, with nothing much to do Except to read the papers through and through. "Died of starvation!"--what does this all mean? Stores of provisions everywhere are seen. "Died of starvation!"--here's the place and name Right in the paper; let us blush for shame! This city _wastes_ what any one would call Nine hundred times enough to feed us all; And yet folks die in garret, hut, and street, Simply because there isn't enough to eat! Oh, heavens! there runs a great big Norway rat, Sleek as a banker, and almost as fat; He daily breakfasts, dines, and sups, and thrives On what would save a pair of human lives; He rears a family with his own fat features, On food we lock up from our fellow-creatures; And human beings fall down by the way, And die for want of food, this very day! "Frozen to death!"--the worse than useless moth May feed, this year, on bales and bales of cloth; Untouched, ten million tons of coal can lie, While God's own human beings freeze and die! "Died of starvation!"--waves of golden wheat All summer dashed and glistened at our feet; Dull, senseless grain is stored in buildings high, And God's own human beings starve and die! I would not rob from rich men what they earn, But I would have them sweet compassion learn; Oh, do not Pity's gentle voice defy, While God's own human beings starve and die! * * * * * MARCH 5, 18--. Died of starvation!--yes, it has been done; To-day I've seen a hunger-murdered one, Who had a perfect right, it seemed to me, The mistress of a happy home to be; And yet we found her on a ragged bed, One white arm underneath a shapely head; Her long, bright hair was lying, fold on fold, Like finest threads spun from a bar of gold; Her face was chiselled after beauty's style, And want had not hewn out its witching smile; 'Twas like white marble half endowed with breath-- The face of this sweet maiden--starved to death!