And, a certain man, who had been, lame from his mother’s womb, was being carried,—whom they used to lay daily at the door of the temple—the door called Beautiful, that he might ask alms of them who were entering into the temple:
Hearken! my brethren beloved:—Hath not, God, chosen the destitute in the world to be rich in faith and heirs of the kingdom which he hath promised to them that love him?
Raiseth, from the dust, the poor, From the dunghill, uplifteth the needy, To give them a dwelling with nobles, And, a throne of glory, to make them inherit. For, to Yahweh, belong the pillars of the earth, And he setteth thereon the habitable world.
From the sole of the foot even unto the head, there is in it no soundness, Bruise and stripe and newly-made wound,—They have not been pressed out, nor bound up, nor soothed with oil.