John Greenleaf Whittier

“ What marvel that the poor man felt his faith
Too weak to bear its burden,--like a rope
That, strand by strand uncoiling, breaks above
The hand that grasps it. "Even now, O Lord!
Send me," he prayed, "the angel of my dream!
Nauhaught is very poor; he cannot wait." ”

“ Girding up
His soul's loins with a resolute hand, he thrust
The base thought from him: "Nauhaught, be a man
Starve, if need be; but, while you live, look out
From honest eyes on all men, unashamed. ”

“ The angel brought
One broad piece only; should he take all these?
Who would be wiser, in the blind, dumb woods?
The loser, doubtless rich, would scarcely miss
This dropped crumb from a table always full. ”