ABJECT, stooping, old, and wan,
See
yon wretched beggar man;
Once a father's hopeful heir,
Once a mother's tender care,
When too young to understand,
He but scorched his little hand,
By the candle's flaming light
Attracted, dancing, spiral, bright;
Clasping fond her darling round,
A thousand kisses healed the wound.
Now, abject, stooping, old, and wan,
No mother tends the beggar man.
Then nought too good for him to wear,
With cherub face and flaxen hair,
In fancy's choicest gauds arrayed,
Cap of lace, with rose to aid,
Milk-white hat with feather blue,
Shoes of red, and coral too,
With silver bells to please his ear,
And charm the frequent, ready tear.
Now, abject, stooping, old, and wan,
Neglected is the beggar man.