The Shivering Beggar

Near Clapham Village, where fields began, St. Edward met a beggar man. It was Christmas morning, the church bells told, the old man trembled for the fierce cold. St. Edward cried, it is monstrous sin, a beggar to lie in rags so thin.

An old grey beard and a frost so keen, I shall give him my fur-lined Gabardine. He stripped off his Gabardine of scarlet and wrapped it round the aged varlate, clutched at the foals with a muttered curse, quaking and shattering seven times worse. Said Edward, sir, it would seem you freeze most bitter at your

extremities. Here are gloves and shoes and stockings also, that warm, upon your way, You may go." The man took stopping and shoe and glove, blaspheming Christ our Savior's love, yet seemed to find but little relief, shaking and shivering like a leaf.

Said the saint again, I have no great riches. Yet take this tool, take these britches, my shirts and my vest take everything, and give Thanks to Jesus the King. The saint stood naked upon the snow.

Long miles from where he was lodged at Bow, praying, Oh God, my faith it grows faint. This would try the temper of any saint. May clean my heart. Almighty I pray and drive these sinful thoughts away.

clean my heart if it's be thy will. His damned old rascals shivering still. He touched the beggar man's shoulder. He asked him, did the frost nip colder? Frost, said the beggar. No, stupid lad. Tis the pulse he makes me shiver so bad.