The Poor Man

THE POOR MAN

My heart won’t despair from a poor man’s name,
Nor will my servant’s hands let my pride refrain,
From washing the feet of the poor and the lame
For only pride can bring me shame.

My head will not rest on a rich man’s bed
For servant’s hands - not wealth - keep a poor man fed
I will empty myself as the wine and the bread
Of the outcast poor instead.

I’ll walk with a poor man to his place
I will eat in his house, I’ll receive his grace
I will drink from his cup, meet him face to face
I will share in his disgrace.

I’ll dance to the song of a poor man’s cry
I will share in his pain as I watch him die
I will enter his tomb and beside him lie
Resting at a poor man’s side.