You give more than you can—
Every day you give a widow’s mite.
What more can you?
Why am I so afraid to give to someone who begs?
To support a busker, what a dredge
Her songs are no good, she likes her small pleasures.
Her pleasures come and go.
They’re free and gone forever.
Why should I pay for hers? She cannot live by songs!
They are fools.
She does what she wants
I have to work
Let God give to her!
I do not!
I don’t lend money or give free of charge
Whoever wants my help shall be charged!
I am not untrue
I do my work and so should you.
Why are you afraid to give to a beggar?
A beggar does not pretend
Why wouldn’t a rich man give a widow’s mite?
To someone who cares to sing?
And fill the air with prosperity.
Why would you begrudge two miserly dollars?
For a performance from the heart
What do you know about charity?
You wretched man of deceit
You don’t do as Jesus says
You like your small pleasures
You just can’t let go of two miserly dollars
One day you’ll do it
I bet you will
It will be for a bet on the races
I know it will.
Busker and beggar,
You are human beings I don’t know
I don’t have to let go.
Why are you afraid to give?
But I tried. In the cold, through the wind, and under grey clouds,
I waited for her
To give more than I would, with the feet and hands of Jesus I should, not knowing what may come
She says to me:
I do not need your money.
For when one sings from the heart,
Reward fills my soul.
A pocketbook then, one does not need.
So, the rich man sang with all his might
A widow passed by,
And threw him a coin —
Her left overs from the wages
What she spent on food and rent —
All that she had left to live on.
Money meant for the poorest —
The coin fell by the rich man’s feet.
So he sung even more.
Not to make some money,
But to make his soul
From sweetness and honey.
Every note a hymn, a
Prayer to soothe.
He’ll come to his senses,