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Title: November
Author: Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow [
More Titles by Bigelow]
Remember the poor, in the dark chilly day,
When November's loud winds are fierce blowing;
Remember the poor, at thy plentiful board,
When the fire on thy bright hearth is glowing.
Remember the poor in yon damp dismal shed,
Without food, fire, or clothing to warm them;
And not like the Priest or the Levite pass by,
But Samaritan like stop and cheer them.
Remember the slave, the poor down trodden slave,
And do all in thy power to relieve him;
And when from oppression he strives to be free,
Do thou open thy gate to receive him.
For what saith the Lord is thy duty to such,
"To his master thou shalt not return him,"[1]
But give him a home near thy own if he likes,
And be sure not to vex or oppress him.
When parents or children or brethren you meet,
In our happy New England and free,
Then remember the slave, the heart broken slave,
For thy brother, thy brother is he.
Remember him also when prayer for thyself,
In affliction's dark hour doth ascend;
And when crying to God the father of all,
Let his wants with thine own kindly blend.
And at the last day, when the rich and the poor
Shall alike by the Judge be regarded;
When master and slave shall appear before God,
And a sentence impartial awarded,--
The cup of cold water He will not forget,
But with other good acts bring to mind;
"When naked ye clothed me, when hungry ye fed,"
Will be uttered in accents most kind.
But when, blessed Saviour, ah when was the time,
That we fed, clothed, or visited thee?
"Such acts," He replies, "to my poor brethren done,
I consider as done unto me."
Nov. 1862.
[1] See Deuteronomy, 23:15, 16.
[The end]
Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow's poem: November
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