Classic Poem

From slums, where foul diseases hide,
The free winds travel far and wide.

The rich man living on the square
Throws wide his windows for the air.

His petted child, with every breath,
Drinks in the viewless seeds of death.

The rich man, bowed down by his woe,
Wonders why God should send the blow.

The parson wonders too, and prays,
And talks of " God's mysterious ways. "

But know, O man of high estate,
You're bound up with the poor man's fate.

The winds that enter at your door
Have crept across his attic floor.

If you would have " all well " with you,
Then must you seek his welfare too.

If even selfishness were wise,
It would no other life despise.