Who is my Brother, Lord?

Asleep in a dumpster,

'Neath the bridge in a box,

Alone in a doorway,

Stooped as he walks.

Frost-bitten fingers,

Infected feet;

Flea-bitten, smelly,

They live on the street.

Cars whiz on by them,

The Elite look away.

Not "beautiful" people,

Those forgotten each day. 

So few to love them,

So few to care

To help mend their broken hearts

Love's warm hugs to share.

The work is so endless, 

Overloaded with stress.

The problems are complex,

For those lives are a mess.

Some jeer at the prospect, 

To work in this hell,

They just might get dirty,

They can't stand the smell.

"These men made their own bed,

Now in it they'll rot.

They've all had their chances."

What a self-righteous thought.

For but the kind grace

Of God up above,

You could be that man

On the street with no love.

"A cup of cold water,

You'll give in My Name.

To the least of my brother's

You go do the same."

"Give food for their hunger,

A coat for their back,

Give hope to their souls."

You cannot be slack.

The clocks keep on ticking,

Wounded soldiers lay down.

As people walk by them,

They bleed on the ground.

Take heed of your attitude

Lofty ideals;

Don't deafen your ears

To their silent appeals.

'Cause the ones that you sneer at

And look down your nose

The LORD Jesus died for

And for them arose.

Poem from See What God Has Done. E.D. Hughes. 1990. Union Gospel Mission. Winnipeg, MB.