Lazarus was a beggar
Somewhere in space and time
As others fared sumptuously
In their life sublime.
Homeless and full of sores
He laid at a rich man’s gate.
No one to love and care for him.
His poverty garnered hate.
At the mercy of others
Was how he would survive
Till that fateful day in which
The beggar was to’ve died.
And since he was a pauper
(No riches, fame nor power)
There was no lavish funeral,
No wreath, nor card, nor flower.
But at this world’s departure
The angels took his hand
Off to Abraham’s *****—
That bright, fair holy land.

While in the rich man’s hand,
His riches were an art.
The beggar held the love of God
Deep down within his heart.
Ah, in heaven he has friends
And family galore.
There he wears a regal robe
And not the rags he wore.
His earthly pal was the dog
That often cleaned his sores:
A mutt, now remembered,
In heaven—evermore.
The rich man held to riches
That he dreaded to depart.
But within the beggar’s *****
Was a truly humble heart.