Classic Poem

The poorest of the poor am I,
And lonely linger here;
I would my heart might yet once more
Be filled with joyous cheer.

Once in my dearest parents' house,
A happy child, I played;
Sharp poverty's my portion now,
Since they in graves were laid.

I see the rich man's garden bloom,
I see the golden corn;
But mine is that unfruitful path
By care and sorrow worn.

Yet gladly here, all grief suppressed,
Amid men's joyous swarm
I linger, wishing each “good day”
With grateful heart and warm.

Thou hast not wholly, gracious Lord,
Abandoned me to wo:
Sweet comforts for the whole wide world
From heav'n unceasing flow.

For still Thy holy house is seen
In every village here;
The organ's tone and anthem sweet
Thrill through the gladdened ear.

Still shine the sun, the moon, the stars,
With kindly love on me;
And when is tolled the vesper-bell,
I commune, Lord, with Thee.

Thou soon shalt ope Thy banquet-room
For righteous men made fit;
In marriage-garb I then may come
And at Thy table sit.