The gen’rous heart for strangers is quite rare.
Though oft we’ve teary feelings of compassion,
Our giving deeds are not of equal fare.
Love’s rife in thought that’s seldom put in action.
Small alms we give to those who have low station,
We spend remaining excess on our own,
When forced to pay the needy by taxation,
We trim this disliked spending to the bone.
To countries far away we send a pittance,
We bask in pride, and earn some warming praise.
But typically we ask for great remittance,
That to us, for contributing, repays.
We all have self-provision at our source,
Forget the plight of others—no remorse.