At the Beautiful Gate sat the lame one,
Bewailing a fate so forlorn,
Oft wishing, since all men forgot him,
He had never in this world been born.
Through the wide entrance crowded the Zealot,
The Pharisee, Sadducee, Scribe;
Of them all scarcely one gave a penny,
Or a thought to the poor of their tribe.
"Oh if I could walk stalwart as they do,
Not long would I beg at the door,
But work with the friends of Jehovah,
And gladden the weak with my store!"
That way came the Christian apostles;
Of silver and gold had they none;
To strength and to joy and to manhood,
Their word raised the sorrowing one.
You may sing of the Beautiful Portal,
All blazoned with silver and gold;
But more beautiful far the thought Christian,
Which leads us to health in Love's fold.
