There’s ever a beautiful angel stands,
Who knocks at our hearts, with gentle hands,
Oh, open wide for her the door,
She pleads for the poor—the suffering poor.
From out the plenty, God has given
The golden gifts of a bounteous heaven;
Your cup of blessings running o,er.
Oh, cool the lips оf the thirsting poor.
And when the festive board is spread
From feast of plenty, where wine flows red.
Oh, gather the crumbs from off the floor.
To feed the hungry—the starving poor:
Hide not your hearts ’neath silken fold
Of royal purple and ’broidered gold,
For naked feet, a-weary and sore,
Are seeking raiment.—Clothe ye the poor.
Oh, ye, who sit amid the flowers,
And heed not the fleeting, golden hours,
Let sunlit smiles shed gladness o’er
The breaking hearts of the sorrowing poor.
Open your hearts to the gentle guest.
Her presence will make your hearth-stone blest ;
For the Angel of Charity, open the door ;
She pleads for the poor—the suffering poor.
“Thy bread upon the waters cast,
Ye’ll find when many days have past.”
Treasures in Heaven's Kingdom store ;
Remember the poor—the suffering poor.
