Fundcharityorg, Hope For The Unprivileged Children.

A Poem By Ella Wheeler Wilcox

I gave a beggar from my little store Of well-earned gold. He spent the shining ore And came again, and yet again, still cold And hungry, as before. I gave a thought, and through that thought of mine He found himself, the man, supreme, divine! Fed, clothed, and crowned with blessings manifold. And now he begs no more.