Parent of virtue, if thine ear
Attend not now to sorrow's cry, If now the pity-streaming tear
Should haply on thy cheek be dry; Indulge my votive strain, O sweet Humanity!
Come, ever welcome to my breast!
A tender, but a cheerful guest,
Nor always in the gloomy cell
Of life-consuming sorrow dwell;
For sorrow, long-indulg'd and slow
Is to Humanity a foe;
And grief that makes the heart its prey,
Wears sensibility away.
Then comes, sweet nymph, instead of thee,
The gloomy fiend, Stupidity.
O may that fiend be banished far,
Though passions hold eternal war!
Nor ever let me cease to know
The pulse that throbs at joy or woe.
Nor let my vacant cheek be dry,
When sorrow fills a brother's eye;
Nor may the tear that frequent flows
From private or from social woes,
E'er make this pleasing sense depart,
Ye Cares, O harden not my heart!
If the fair star of fortune smile,
Let not its flattering power beguile;
Nor, borne along the favoring tide
My full sails swell with bloating pride.
Let me from wealth but hope content,
Remembering still it was but lent;
To modest merit spread my store,
Unbar my hospitable door;
Nor feed, for pomp, an idle train,
While want unpited pines in vain.
If heaven, in every purpose wise,
The envied lot of wealth denies;
If doom'd to drag life's painful load
Through poverty's uneven read,
And, for the due bread of the day,
Destined to toil as well as pray;
To thee, humanity, still true,
I'll wish the good I cannot do ;
And give the wretch, that passes by,
A soothing word—a tear-a sigh.
Howe'er exalted, or deprest,
Be ever mine the feeling breast.
From me remove the stagnant mind
Of languid indolence, reclin'd,
The soul that one long Sabbath keeps,
And through the sun's whole circle sleeps ;
Dull Peace, that dwells in Folly's eye,
And self-attending Vanity,
Alike, the foolish and the vain
Are strangers to the sense humane.
O for that sympathetic glow
Which taught the holy tear to flow,
When the prophetic eye survey'd
Sion in future ashes laid ;-
Or raised to heaven, implor'd the bread
That thousands in the desert fed!
Or, when the heart o'er friendship's grave
Sigh'd- and forgot its power to save
O for that sympathetic glow
Which taught the holy tear to flow!
It comes: It fills my laboring breast,
I feel my beating heart opprest.
Oh! hear that lonely widow's wail!
See her dim eye! her aspect pale!
To heaven she turns in deep despair,
Her infants wonder at her prayer,
And, mingling tears thy know not why,
Lift up their little hands, and cry,
O God! their moving sorrows see!
Support them, Sweet Humanity!
Life fill'd with grief's distressful train,
For ever asks the tear humane.
Behold in yon unconscious grove
The victims of ill-fated love!
Heard you that agonizing throe?
Sure this is not romantic woe!
The golden day of joy is o'er ;
And now they part-to meet no more.
Assist them, hearts from anguish free!
Assist them, sweet humanity! .
Parent of virtue, if thine ear
Attend not now to Sorrow's cry;
If now the pity-streaming tear
Should hapily on thy cheek be dry,
Indulge my votive strain, O sweet Humanity!
KINDNESS TO THE PENITENT.
Say, can the man whom Justice doomed to shame,
With front erect, his country's honors_claim?
Can he with cheek unblushing join the crowd,
Claim equal rights and have his claim allowed?
What though he mourn, a penitent sincere ;
Though every dawn be ushered with a tear;
The world, more prone to censure than forgive,
Quick to suspect, and tardy to believe,
Will still the hapless penitent despise,
And watch his conduct with invidious eyes;
But the chief end of justice once achieved,
The public weal secured, a soul reprieved,
'Twere wise in laws, 'twere generous to provide
Some place where blushing penitence might hide;
Yes 'twere humane, 'twere godlike to protect
Returning virtue from the world's neglect
And taunting scorn, which pierce with keener pains
The feeling mind, than dungeons, racks, and chains :
Enlarge their bounds; admit a purer air ;
Dismiss the servile badge and scanty fare;
The stint of labor lessen or suspend,
Admit at times the sympathizing friend.
"Does not God love him," asked the innocent child :
The stamp of guilt is on his brow,
Her seal is on him set,
Sin sits defiant in his eye,-
But oh! have patience yet.
Pity him for his fallen lot,
Weep that he sinks so low;
Alas! how swift his erring feet,
Adown the broad path go!
Wait yet a little,—scorn him not,—
Thou dost not see the band
Of evil spirits tempting him,
Who in his pathway stand.
Rejoice with trembling,-that for thee
Has been a higher lot;
Weep for thy guilty brother's sins,
Pity him,-hate him not.
God loveth all, he waiteth long,
He pities, he forgives,―
There's joy in Heaven, when from his guilt A sinner turns and lives.
Hate not thy brother! Howe'er low
In evil ways he fall,
Pity him, hate not any child
Of Him who loveth all.
'Turn not from him who asks of thee
A portion of thy store;
|