And Wherefore Do The Poor Complain? The Rich Man Asked Of Me,-- Come Walk Abroad With Me, I Said And I Will Answer Thee. Twas Evening And The Frozen Streets Were Cheerless To Behold, And We Were Wrapt And Coated Well, And Yet We Were A-Cold. We Met An Old Bare-Headed Man, His Locks Were Few And White, I Ask'D Him What He Did Abroad In That Cold Winter'S Night: 'Twas Bitter Keen Indeed, He Said, But At Home No Fire Had He, And Therefore, He Had Come Abroad To Ask For Charity. We Met A Young Bare-Footed Child, And She Begg'D Loud And Bold, I Ask'D Her What She Did Abroad When The Wind It Blew So Cold; She Said Her Father Was At Home And He Lay Sick A-Bed, And Therefore Was It She Was Sent Abroad To Beg For Bread. We Saw A Woman Sitting Down Upon A Stone To Rest, She Had A Baby At Her Back And Another At Her Breast; I Ask'D Her Why She Loiter'D There When The Wind It Was So Chill; She Turn'D Her Head And Bade The Child That Scream'D Behind Be Still. She Told Us That Her Husband Served A Soldier, Far Away, And Therefore To Her Parish She Was Begging Back Her Way. We Met A Girl; Her Dress Was Loose And Sunken Was Her Eye, Who With The Wanton'S Hollow Voice Address'D The Passers By; I Ask'D Her What There Was In Guilt That Could Her Heart Allure To Shame, Disease, And Late Remorse? She Answer'D, She Was Poor. I Turn'D Me To The Rich Man Then For Silently Stood He, You Ask'D Me Why The Poor Complain, And These Have Answer'D Thee.