O love your neighbour, though their coffers swell
With gold that mocks your humble, scanty cell;
Let not your heart in secret envy burn,
Nor wish their riches unto you return.
Be content in your lowly cot to dwell,
And grudge them not their feast or silken spell—
For coveting the proud one’s store is sin,
And poisons where sweet charity should begin.

Or if your purse be full, your dwelling fair,
And near you crouch the ragged, cold, and bare—
Despise them not as lesser in your sight;
One blood hath God ordained for all delight.
The coat may shine with richer thread than theirs,
Yet souls are equal ‘neath eternal cares.
Call them your kin, though in rags arrayed;
Love them as Christ the outcast ones hath stayed.

Yea, though your kindness meet with cold disdain,
And gratitude repay you but with pain—
Press on in love, nor faint upon the way;
The rougher path doth prove the hero’s day.
Heap coals of fire on heads that spurn your grace;
Seek not their smile, but seek your Master’s face.
If others reject you, Heaven does not refuse—
Your deed ascends, accepted in His views.

Thus tread the steps where Christ Himself hath trod,
Who loved the thankless, bore the cross for God;
Through storm or calm, through thickest scorn or thin,
Love your neighbour—let love the victory win.
For in this labour pure and undefiled
You walk with the meek and lowly Child,
And find, in the giving of your heart,
The richest treasure love can e’er impart.