"True, their homes are very dull, and bare, and dismal,
And the narrow courts they live in dark and small,
And we think they love that sparsely-planted acre--
But we do not want to think of them at all!

"There are surely parks enough to make a play-ground,
And we might be spared these noisy little feet;
But the parks, the Clergy say, are all too distant,
And so they planned this garden in the street!

"No doubt the seats are pleasanter than curb-stones,
While the trees make quite a shelter from the sun,
And the grass does nicely for the crawling babies--
But somebody must think of Number One!

"And the air the children get of course is purer;
But then the noise they make is very great,
With their laughter and their shouting to each other,
And the everlasting banging of the gate!

"And the wailing of the sickly, puny babies
Is enough to fret one's spirit through and through--
No doubt they cry as much in those dark alleys--
But then we never hear them if they do!

"Half the Parish talks to us of self-denial,
Of kindly duties lying at the door,
And of One who says the Poor are always with us;
But we can't be always thinking of the Poor!