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338 The dove then brought a bonfire's sole Surviving ember—one live coal, And where a pile of dry leaves lay, He kindled it to fire straightway. Now, sir, take heart; forgetting fear, Resuscitate your members here; Alas! I cannot put to flight The cravings of your appetite.

One patron feeds a thousand men; One feeds a hundred; one feeds ten. But I, whose virtue does not thrive, Scarce keep my puny self alive.

Ah, if you have not in your nest Provision for a single guest, Why occupy today, tomorrow A nest that harbors naught but sorrow?

I shall destroy my body, fain To end its living with its pain, That nevermore I stand confessed Powerless to aid a needy guest."

And thus he blamed himself, you see; The greedy fowler went scot-free: Then—"I may yet your craving sate, If one mere moment you will wait."

Whereat that creature free from sin, Joy-quivering his soul within, Walked round the fire, as it had been His cherished home, and entered in.

When this the greedy fowler saw, Compassion filled his soul, and awe.