Poor Old Paul
Poor old Paul! he has lost a foot;
And see him go hobbling along,
With the stump laced up in that clumsy boot,
Before the gathering throng!
And now, as he has to pass so many,
And suffer the gaze of all,
If each would only bestow a penny,
’Twere something for poor old Paul.
His cheek is wan, and his garb is thin;
His eye is sunken and dim;
He looks as if the winter had been
Making sad work with him.
While he is trying to hide the tatter,
Mark how his looks will fall!
Nobody needs to ask the matter
With poor, old, hungry Paul.
All that he has in his dingy sack
Is morsels of bread and meat,—
The leavings, to burden his aged back,
Which others refused to eat.
So now I am sure, you will all be willing
To part with a sum so small
As each will spare, who makes up a shilling
To comfort him—Poor old Paul!