Those Poor, Heartbroken Wretches, Doomed To Hear At Night The Clocks' Hard Tones; They Have No Beds To Warm Their Limbs, But With Those Limbs Must Warm Cold Stones; Those Poor Weak Men, Whose Coughs And Ailings Force Them To Tear At Iron Railings. Those Helpless Men That Starve, My Pity; Whose Waking Day Is Never Done; Who, Save For Their Own Shadows, Are Doomed Night And Day To Walk Alone: They Know No Bright Face But The Sun'S, So Cold And Dark Are Human Ones.