And plenty makes us poor.

As society advances the standard of poverty rises.

Blessed is he that considereth the poor: the Lord will deliver him in time of trouble.

Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul.

Content with poverty, my soul I arm; And virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm.

Do not presume, well-housed, well-warmed, and well-fed, to criticize the poor.

For the poor always ye have with you; but me ye have not always.

He raiseth up the poor out of the dust, and lifteth up the beggar from the dunghill.

He saveth the poor from the sword, from their mouth, and from the hand of the mighty.

He that hath pity upon the poor lendeth unto the Lord; and that which he hath given will he pay him again.