Classic Poem

As some rich Baron on a wintry shore,
Standing 'mid coffers bulging with his gold,
And with great argosies of wealth untold,
Hears, oversea, their anguish who implore
Aid ere they starve, then straightway from his store
Supplies their wants, yet heeds not his own fold, —
His famished people huddled in the cold, —
Nor feels the destitution at his door;
So ye, rich givers to an alien land,
With princely hoard of silver and of wheat,
Sent grain-ships far across the ocean foam;
Freely you gave, nor saw the bread-line stand
Famished and shivering on your city street,
Nor knew Beneficence begins at home.