The Poor Man

The poor man on the country road,
      Battered, bleeding, spent,
Cried for help to all who came;
      Several past him went.

A priest came by with pious mien.
      He must have seen the man
For swift he turned his head away
      And almost from him ran.

The footsteps of the Pharisee,
      With head in haughty poise,
Too passed him with averted eyes;
      Compassion in him froze.

And then the dear Samaritan
      Reached out with loving care
To the smallest detail—
     Nothing would he spare.

Do I pass mankind, dear Lord,
      And avert my eyes?
Shut my ears as I go by
      To their need and cries?

Ah forgive my tardiness,
     And my lack of zeal.
I take up my calling, Lord,
     To the lost’s appeal.

~Jenny Daniel