THE POOR CHINESE.
BY S. HAMMOND (1838)
The heart that sympathy awakes,
Observes each form that misery takes;
Heeds not the land from whence it came,
No prejudice stints Pity's flame;
Compassionates where woe it sees,
Alike Esquimaux or Chinese.
The proud Chinese, behold him now,
Meridian splendour smites his brow;
Tattered his garb, his head is bare,
His feet the rugged pavement tare;
He looks, ah! vainly looks to see,
If any eye speaks sympathy.
Some emblem of his country's store,
He offers, but who heeds the poor?
He passes thro' the city lorn,
And unobserved, except with scorn.
Tho' his deep sighs prolong the breeze,
None, none, regards the poor Chinese.
Say, can the bosom long sustain,
Unheeded, such dire sense of pain?
Far, far from friends and country dear;
Victim of penury severe;
Wandering, no ray of hope he sees;
Despondence chills the poor Chinese.