Our gaieties, our luxuries
Our pleasures and our glee,
Mere insolence and wantonries
Alas, they feel to me.

How shall I laugh and sing and dance?
My very heart recoils
While here to give my mirth a chance
A hungry brother toils.

The joy that does not spring from joy
Which I in others see
How can I venture to employ
Or find it joy for me?