Give Him a Lift by Joe Cone

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Sep 14, 1911

Give Him a Lift

By Joe Cone

I was trudging one day down a dusty road, While my back was curved under a bit of a load, And the way was long, and my feet were sore, And my bones ached under the load I bore; But I struggled on in the summer’s heat, Till I came to a pool where I bathed my feet.

Then, resting a bit, I shouldered my load, And wended my way down the dusty road. The morning stretched into the after- noon— My journey’s end seemed as far as the moon; Till at length a horse and a wagon drew near, And my heart revived with a spark of cheer.

But the man saw only his own small soul, And the narrow way to his narrow goal, And he whipped his horse to a guilty trot, Though the sand was deep, and the day was hot; And he passed me by on the dusty road, And I sank still lower beneath my load.

But out of the dust came another man, With a grizzled beard and a cheek of tan; And he pulled up short, and he gaily cried: “I say there, comrade, get in and ride!” And he placed my bundle behind the seat, And he said, “Climb in here, an’ rest your feet; I never pass by a man on the road, An’ ’speshly, friend, if he’s got a load.”

I reached my journey ere came the night, And my feet were rested, my heart was light; And I blessed the driver who’d gaily cried: “I say there, comrade, get in and ride!”

Ah! the world is full of sore-footed men Who need a slight lift every now and then; And the angels can see through the white cloud rift All the godlike souls who give them a lift.

— Joe Cone in Boston Herald.