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1TY the forrows of a poor old man, Whofe trembling limbs have borne him to your 'loor. Whofe days arc dwindled tii the fhortest fpan;

Oh, give relief, and Heaven will blefs your store!

Thefe tatter'd clothes my poverty befpeak,

Thefe hoary locks proclaim my lengthen'd years;

And many a furrow in my grief-worn cheek
Has been the channel to a flood of tears.

Yon houfe, erected on the rising ground,

With tempting afpect drew me from my road;

For Plenty there a residence has found,
And Grandeur a magnisicent abode.

Hard is the fate of the insirm and poor 1
Here, as I crav'd a morfel of their bread,

A pamper'd menial drove me from the door,
To feek a lhelter in a humbler Ihed.

Oh, take me to your hofpitable dome!

Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold i Short is my pasfage to the friendly tomb,

For I am poor and miferably old.

Should I reveal the fources of my grief,
If foft humanity e'er touch'd your breast,

Your hands would not withhold the kind relief,
And tears of pity would not be represe'd.

Heaven fends misfortunes; why lhould we repine?

'Tis Heaven has brought me to the state you fee; And your condition may be foon like mine,

The Child of Sorrow and of Mifery. A little farm was my paternal lot,

Then, like the lark, t fprightly hail'd the morn; But, ah! Oppression forc'd me from my cot;

My cattle died, and blighted was my corn.

My daughter, once the comfort of my age,
Lur' a villain from her native home,

Is cast abandon'd on the world's wide stage,
And doom'd in fcanty poverty to roam.

My tender wife, fweet foother of my care!

Struck with fad anguilh at the stern decree, Fell, ling'ring fell, a victim to defpair,

And left the world to wretchednefs and me*

Pity the forrows of a poor old man,

Whofe trembling limbs have borne him to your door, Whofe days are dwindled to the lhortest fpan!

Oh, give relief, and heaven will blefs jour store!

! RIEND to the wretch whofe bofom knows no joy!
Parent of blifs, beyond the reach of fate 1
Celestial Hope! thou gift divine!
Sweet balm of grief! O still be mine!

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When pains torment and care* annoy,
Thou only canst their force abate,

And gild the gloom which lhades this mortal state.
Though oft thy joys are falfe and vain,
Though anxious doubts attend thy train.
Though difappointment mock thy care,
And point the way to fell defpair,

Yet still my fecret foul shall own thy pow'r,

In forrow's bitterest pang, in pleafure's gayest hour.
For from the date of Reafon's birth

That wond'rous power was given,
To foften every grief on earth,
To raife the foul from thoughtlefs mirth,
And wing its slight to heav'n.

Nor pain nor pleafure can its force destroy,

la every varied fcene it points to future joy.


Fancy, wave thy airy pinions,

Bid the foft ideas rife,
Spread o'er all thy wide dominions

Vernal fweets and cloudlefs fkies.
And lo! on yonder verdant plain,

A lovely youthful Train appear,
Their gentle hearts have felt no pain.

Their guiltlefs bofoms know no fear:
In each gay fcene fomn new delight Ihey simd.
Yet fancy gayer profpects still behind.
Where are the foft delusions fled?

Must Wifdom teach the soul to mourn f

Return, ye days of ignorance, return!
Before my eyes your fairy visions fpread!
Atas! thofe fairy visions charm no more,
The pleasing dream of youth is o'er;
Far other thoughts must now the foul employ,
It glows with other hopes, it pants for other joy,


Hark! the fprightly voice of pleafure
Calls to yonder rofy bow'r,

There lhe fcatters all her treafure,
There exerts her magic pow'r.

Listen to the pleafmg call,

Follow, mortals, follow all;

l^ad the dance, and fpread the feast,

Crown with rofes every guest:

Now the fprightly minstrels found,

Pleafure's voice is heard around, And Pleafure's fprightly voice the hills and dales refound* Whence arofe that fecret sigh—

What fudden gloom o'erclouds thy cheerful brow?

Say, does not every pleafure wait thee now, That e'er could charm the ear, or court the e\'e? In vain does Nature lavilh all her store;

The confcious fpirit still afpires,

Still purfues fome new desires, And, every with obtain'd, it sighs and pants for more*


Are thefe, O Hope! the glories of thy reign?

The airy dreams of fancy and of youth! Must all thy boasted pleafures lead to pain;

Thy }oys all vanilh at the light of truth? Mast wretched man, led by a meteor sire,

To distant blessmgs still afpire;

Still with ardour strive to gain

Joys he oft purfues in vain,
Joys which quickly must expire;
And when at length the fatal hour is come,
And death prepares the irrevocable doom,
Mourn all his darling hopes at once destroyM,
And sigh to leave that blifs he ne'er enjoy'd?


Rife, heavenly vilions, rife!

And every vain delusive fear controul; Let real glory charm my wond'ring eyes,

And real happinefs enchant my foul 1 Hail, glorious dawn of everlasting day,

Though faintly feen ! ——

Thy beams the sinking heart can cheer, And light the weary pilgrim on his way:

For not in vain did Heav'n infpire

That active fpark of sacred sire
Which still with restlefs ardour glows:
In pain, in pleafure still the fame,
It feeks that heaven from whence it came,
And fcorns all meaner joys, all transient woes.

The foul, for perfect blifs design'd,

Strives in vain that blifs to sind, 'Till wing'd by Hope, at length it flies Beyond the narrow bounds of earth, and air, and flues.


Still unmov'd, let Hope remain

Fix'd -on true fubstantial joy; Dangers then fhall threat in vain,

Pains torment, or cares annoy;

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