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I WANDER thro’ the streets, and see The poor man and the rich; But I am sure that God alone Knows rightly which is which.—

—There was an old man once, who bore A tray of wither’d fruit; It snow’d; and people hurried by, Deaf to his quavering suit.

Last, by a lit wide-window’d shop With doubled prayers he plied One who, alas! like all the rest Unheeding, pushed inside,