Classic Poem

The Mother of God is weeping
Underneath her white coverchief.
Her dear Son asks her: “Mother,
Tell me, what is your grief?”

“My Son, I weep for the beggars;
They die of hunger,” she said.
“Now weep no more, my mother;
The rich will give them bread.”

“Give bread for alms, O rich man!
In the name of Christ, I pray.”
“Now may the good God help you!
I have no bread to-day.”

“Give me the little crumbs, then,
That are scattered on the ground.”
“The little crumbs that are scattered,
They are for my white hound.”

Within a fortnight after,
The wicked rich man died;
He beat at the door of our Lord Christ,
And to open it he tried.

Saint John says to Saint Peter:
“See who stands and cries.”
“It is the wicked rich man;
He would enter Paradise.”

“Go ask him what he did living,
Below in his own country,—
If he used to clothe the ragged,
And give alms in charity.”

“I did not clothe the ragged,
Nor give alms in charity;
But if I might return there once,
Below, to my own country,

“Oh, I would clothe the naked,
And the beggars should not lack.”
“You should have done it there at first,
For you never can go back.”

He turned him away then, weeping,
And sank to the depths of Hell;
“Oh, on the earth I knew no pain!
Poor me! I lived too well!

“I had pillows all of feathers,
On a velvet couch I lay,
But now I shall have a fire
That burns by night and day!”