Behold how the rivers flow down to the sea,
Sending their treasures so careless and free;
And to give their assistance each Spring doth arise,
Uplifting and singing my songs to the skies.

Find out the haunts o’ the low human pest,
Give to the weary, the poor, and distressed;
What if unthankful and thankless they be,
Think of the giver that gave unto thee.

Go travel the long lanes on misery’s virge,
Find out their dark dens, and list to their dirge;
Where want and famine, and by ourselves made,
Forgive our frail follies, and come to our aid.

Give to yon widow—thy gift is thrice blest,
For tho’ she be silent, the harder she’s pressed;
A small bit o’ help to the little she earns,
God blesses the giver to fatherless bairns.

’Neath the green grassy mounds o’ yon little church yard,
An over-wrought genius there finds his reward;
And marvel thee not, when I say unto thee,
Such are the givers that give unto me.

Then scatter thy mite like nature her rain,—
What if no birdie should chant thee a strain;
What if no daisy should smile on the lea;
The sweet honeysuckle will compensate thee.

For the day will soon come, if thou gives all thou may,
That thou mayest venture to give all away;
Ere nature again her balmy dews send,
Thou may have vanished my good giving friend.