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by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

   I see the tall church steeples—
      They reach so far, so far;
   But the eyes of my heart see the world’s great mart
   Where the starving people are.

      I hear the church bells ringing
      Their chimes on the morning air;
   But my soul’s sad ear is hurt to hear
      The poor man’s cry of despair.

   Thicker and thicker the churches,
      Nearer and nearer the sky—
   But alack for their creeds while the poor man’s needs
      Grow deeper as years roll by!

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

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