The Literary Maiden

A compendium of obscure 19th century writing.

“Who is my Neighbor?” by William Cutter

Who is my Neighbor?
William Cutter

THY neighbor ? It is he whom thou
Hast power to aid and bless—
Whose aching heart, and burning brow,
Thy soothing hand may press.

Thy neighbor ? ’tis the fainting poor,
Whose eye with want is dim,
Whom hunger sends from door to door—
Go thou, and succor him.

Thy neighbor ? ’tis that weary man,
Whose years are at their brim,
Bent low with sickness, care an pain—
Go thou, and comfort him.

Thy neighbor ? ’tis the bereft
Of every earthly gem—
Widow and orphan, helpless left—
To thou, and shelter them.

Thy neighbor ? yonder slave,
Fettered in thought and limb,
Whose hopes are all beyond the grave—
Go thou, and ransom him.

Whene’er thou meet’st a human form
Less favored than thine own,
Remember, ’tis thy neighbor worn,
Thy brother, or thy son.

Oh ! pass not, pass not heedless by—
Perhaps thou can’st redeem
One breaking heart from misery—
Go, share thy lot with him.

“Death” from the Ladies’ Companion, November, 1837

Death
From the Ladies’ Companion, November, 1837
(Author—Anonymous)

DEATH is a mighty conqueror,—
All seasons are his own ;
And o’er the pleasant fields of earth
His trophies wide are strewn.
As months and years swift glide away,
His kingdom doth extend ;
And ’till a Mightier One appears,
His conquests will not end.
Death is a stern and cruel foe,
To the thoughtless and the gay,
Who of the morrow never dream,
And live but for the day :
He calls the miser from his hoard,
The reveller from the feast,
And brings unto a common home,
The greatest and the least.
Death is a kind and gentle friend
To the lone and sad in heart,
Who from the busy scene of life
Are willing to depart.
The good man hath of him no fears,
The Christian dreads him not—
For in the quiet of his realm,
Their troubles are forgot.