A man amidst thieves,   lay lame and sickly,   as the passersby see   but all just keep moving      There priestly and pious,   pass on the wayside.   heedless and high   as all just keep moving      None wash them with wine,   or dress their afflictions   There's no more oil to soothe,   or give sweet benediction.      All hasten their feet   and quicken their breathing   There’ re no more alms to catch up    with the pace they are keeping      We all walk like levites   and pass alongside of the fray   No more Samaritans   ever'd be stopped on the way      No more inns for exposure   or men with the means to defray   No more Samaritans   ever'd be stopped on the way   09 no more samaritans