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The debtor's friends (for still he has some friends)
Have time to visit him; the blossoming pea,
That climbs the rust-worn bars, seems fresher tinged;
And on the little turf, this day renew'd,
The lark, his prison mate, quivers the wing
With more than wonted joy. See, through the bars
That pallid face retreating from the view,
That glittering eye following, with hopeless look,
The friends of former years, now passing by
In peaceful fellowship to worship God:
With them, in days of youthful years, he roam'd
O'er hill and dale, o'er broomy knowe; and wist
As little as the blithest of the band
Of this his lot; condemn'd, condemn'd unheard, The party for his judge ;-among the throng, The Pharisaical hard-hearted man
He sees pass on, to join the heaven-taught prayer,
Forgive our debts as we forgive our debtors:
From unforgiving lips most impious prayer!
O happier far the victim than the hand
That deals the legal stab! The injured man
Enjoys internal, settled calm; to him
The Sabbath bell sounds peace; he loves to meet
His fellow sufferers to pray and praise:
And many a prayer, as pure as e'er was breathed
In holy fanes, is sigh'd in prison halls.
Ah me! that clank of chains, as kneel and rise
The death-doom'd row. But see, a smile illumes
The face of some; perhaps they're guiltless: O!
And must high-minded honesty endure
The ignominy of a felon's fate!
No, 'tis not ignominious to be wrong'd:
No; conscious exultation swells their hearts
To think the day draws nigh, when in the view
Of angels, and of just men perfect made,
The mark which rashness branded on their names
Shall be effaced;-when wafted on life's storm,
Their souls shall reach the Sabbath of the skies;
As birds from bleak Norwegia's wintry coast
Blown out to sea, strive to regain the shore,
But, vainly striving, yield them to the blast.-
Swept o'er the deep to Albion's genial isle,
Amazed they light amid the bloomy sprays
Of some green vale, there to enjoy new loves,
And join in harmony unheard before.
The land is groaning 'neath the guilt of blood Spilt wantonly: for every death-doom'd man, Who, in his boyhood, has been left untaught That wisdom's ways are ways of pleasantness, And all her paths are peace, unjustly dies. But, ah! how many are thus left untaught,How many would be left, but for the band United to keep holy to the Lord
His child shall still receive instruction's boon.
But hark, a noise,-a cry,-a gleam of swords!-
Resistance is in vain,-he's borne away,
Nor is allow'd to clasp his weeping child.
My innocent, so helpless, yet so gay!
How could I bear to be thus rudely torn
From thee;-to see thee lift thy little arm,
And impotently strike the ruffian man,—
To hear thee bid him chidingly-begone!
O ye who live at home, and kiss each eve Your sleeping infants ere you go to rest, And, waken'd by their call, lift up your eyes Upon their morning smile,-think, think of those, Who, torn away without one farewell word To wife or children, sigh the day of life In banishment from all that's dear to man ;O raise your voices in one general peal Remonstrant, for th' oppress'd. And ye, who sit Month after month devising impost laws, Give some small portion of your midnight vigils To mitigate, if not remove, the wrong.
Relentless justice! with fate-furrow'd brow; Wherefore to various crimes of various guilt, One penalty, the most severe, allot? Why, pall'd in state, and mitred with a wreath Of nightshade, dost thou sit portentously, Beneath a cloudy canopy of sighs,
Behold yon motley train, by two and two,
Each with a Bible 'neath its little arm,
Approach well pleased, as if they went to play,
The dome where simple lore is learnt unbought:
And mark the father 'mid the sideway throng;
Well do I know him by his glistening eye,
That follows steadfastly one of the line,
A dark seafaring man he looks to be;
And much it glads his boding heart to think,
That when once more he sails the valley'd deep,
Of fears, of trembling hopes, of boding doubts;
Death's dart thy mace!-Why are the laws of God,
Statutes promulged in characters of fire,*
Despised in deep concerns, where heavenly guidance
Is most required? The murderer-let him die,
And him who lifts his arm against his parent,
His country, or his voice against his God.
Let crimes less heinous dooms less dreadful meet
Than loss of life! so said the law divine:
That law beneficent, which mildly stretch'd,
To men forgotten and forlorn, the hand
Of restitution: Yes, the trumpet's voice
The Sabbath of the jubileet announced:
The freedom-freighted blast, through all the land
At once, in every city, echoing rings,
From Lebanon to Carmel's woody cliffs,
So loud, that far within the desert's verge
The couching lion starts, and glares around.
Free is the bondman now, each one returns
To his inheritance: The man, grown old
In servitude far from his native fields,
Hastes joyous on his way; no hills are steep,
Smooth is each rugged path; his little ones
"And it came to pass, on the third day in the morning, that there were thunders and lightnings, and a thick cloud upon the mount, and the voice of the trumpet ex
A portion of his day, by teaching those
Whom Jesus loved with forth-stretch'd hand to ceeding loud; so that all the people that was in the camp
trembled." Exod. xix. 16.
"And thou shalt number seven Sabbaths of years unto thee, seven times seven years; and the space of the seven Sabbaths of years shall be unto thee forty and nine years. Then shalt thou cause the trumpet of the jubilee to sound on the tenth day of the seventh month; in the day of atonement shall ye make the trumpet sound throughout all your land. And ye shall hallow the fiftieth year, and proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof: it shall be a jubilee unto you; and ye shall return every man unto his possession, and ye shall return every man unto his family." Lev. xxv. 8-10.
Sport as they go, while oft the mother chides
The lingering step, lured by the way-side flowers:
At length the hill, from which a farewell look,
And still another parting look, he cast
On his paternal vale, appears in view:
The summit gain'd, throbs hard his heart with joy
And sorrow blent, to see that vale once more;
Instant his eager eye darts to the roof
Where first he saw the light; his youngest born
He lifts, and, pointing to the much-loved spot,
Says There thy fathers lived, and there they
Onward he wends; near and more near he draws:
How sweet the tinkle of the palm-bower'd brook!
The sunbeam slanting through the cedar grove
How lovely, and how mild! But lovelier still
The welcome in the eye of ancient friends,
Scarce known at first! and dear the fig-tree shade
"Neath which on Sabbath eve his father told*
Of Israel from the house of bondage freed,
Led through the desert to the promised land ;-
With eager arms the aged stem he clasps,
And with his tears the furrow'd bark bedews:
And still, at midnight hour, he thinks he hears
The blissful sound that brake the bondman's chains,
The glorious peal of freedom and of joy!
Did ever law of man a power like this
Display? power marvellous as merciful,
Which, though in other ordinances still
Most plainly seen, is yet but little mark'd
For what it truly is,-a miracle!
Stupendous, ever new, perform'd at once
In every region,-yea, on every sea
Which Europe's navies plough;-yes, in all lands
From pole to pole, or civilized to rude,
People there are, to whom the Sabbath morn
Dawns, shedding dews into their drooping hearts:
Yes, far beyond the high-heaved western wave,
Amid Columbia's wildernesses vast,
The words which God in thunder from the mount
Of Sinai spake, are heard, and are obey'd.
Thy children, Scotia, in the desert land,
Driven from their homes by fell monopoly,
Keep holy to the ord the seventh day.
Assembled under loftiest canopy
Of trees primeval, soon to be laid low
They sing, By Babel's streams we sat and wept.
What strong mysterious links enchain the heart
To regions where the morn of life is spent!
In foreign lands, though happier be the clime,
Though round our board smile all the friends we
The face of nature wears a stranger's look.
Yea, though the valley which we loved be swept
Of its inhabitants, none left behind,
Not e'en the poor blind man who sought his bread
From door to door, still, still there is a want;
Yes, even he, round whom a night that knows
"And these words which I command thee this day shall be in thine heart: And thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy children, and shalt talk of them when thou sittest in thy house, and when thou walkest by the way, and when thou liest down, and when thou risest up.
Thou shalt say unto thy son, We were Pharaoh's bondmen in Egypt; and the Lord brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand." Deut. vi. 6,7. 21.
No dawn is ever spread, whose native vale
Presented to his closed eyes a blank,
Deplores its distance now. There well he knew
Each object, though unseen; there could he wend
His way, guideless, through wilds and mazy woods;
Each aged tree, spared when the forest fell,
Was his familiar friend, from the smooth birch,
With rind of silken touch, to the rough elm:
The three gray stones that mark'd where heroes lay
Mourn'd by the harp, mourn'd by the melting voice
Of Cona, oft his resting-place had been;
Oft had they told him that his home was near:
The tinkle of the rill, the murmuring
So gentle of the brook, the torrent's rush,
The cataract's din, the ocean's distant roar,
The echo's answer to his foot or voice,-
All spoke a language which he understood,
All warn'd him of his way. But most he feels,
Upon the hallow'd morn, the saddening change:
No more he hears the gladsome village bell
Ring the bless'd summons to the house of God:
And for the voice of psalms, loud, solemn, grand,
That cheer'd his darkling path, as with slow step
And feeble, he toil'd up the spire-topt hill,-
A few faint notes ascend among the trees.
What though the cluster'd vine there hardly tempts
The traveller's hand; though birds of dazzling plume
Perch on the loaded boughs ;-" Give me thy woods,
(Exclaims the banish'd man,) thy barren woods,
Poor Scotland! Sweeter there the reddening haw,
The sloe, or rowan's* bitter bunch, than here
The purple grape; dearer the redbreast's note,
That mourns the fading year in Scotia's vales,
Than Philomel's, where spring is ever new;
More dear to me the redbreast's sober suit,
So like a wither'd leaflet, than the glare
Of gaudy wings, that make the iris dim."
Nor is regret exclusive to the old :
The boy, whose birth was midway o'er the main,
A ship his cradle, by the billows rock'd,—
"The nursling of the storm,"-although he claims
No native land, yet does he wistful hear
Of some far distant country still call'd home,
Where lambs of whitest fleece sport on the hills;
Where gold-speck'd fishes wanton in the streams:
Where little birds, when snow-flakes dim the air,
Light on the floor, and peck the table crumbs,
And with their singing cheer the winter day.
But what the loss of country to the woes
Of banishment and solitude combined!
O! my heart bleeds to think there now may live
One hapless man, the remnant of a wreck,
Cast on some desert island of that main
Immense, which stretches from the Cochin shore
To Acapulco. Motionless he sits,
As is the rock his seat, gazing whole days,
With wandering eye, o'er all the watery waste;
Now striving to believe the albatross
A sail appearing on the horizon's verge;
Now vowing ne'er to cherish other hope
Than hope of death. Thus pass his weary hours,
Till welcome evening warn him that 'tis time
Upon the shell-notch'd calendar to mark
Another day, another dreary day,-
Changeless;-for, in these regions of the sun,
The wholesome law that dooms mankind to toil,
Bestowing grateful interchange of rest
And labour, is annull'd; for there the trees,
Adorn'd at once with bud, and flower, and fruit,
Drop, as the breezes blow, a shower of bread
And blossoms on the ground. But yet by him,
The hermit of the deep, not unobserved
The Sabbath passes. "Tis his great delight.
Each seventh eve he marks the farewell ray,
And loves, and sighs to think,-that setting sun
Is now impurpling Scotland's mountain tops,
Or, higher risen, slants athwart her vales,
Tinting with yellow light the quivering throat
Of day-spring lark, while woodland birds below
Chant in the dewy shade. Thus all night long
He watches, while the rising moon describes
The progress of the day in happier lands.
And now he almost fancies that he hears
The chiming from his native village church;
And now he sings, and fondly hopes the strain
May be the same that sweet ascends at home
In congregation full,-where, not without a tear
They are remember'd who in ships behold
The wonders of the deep: he sees the hand,
The widow'd hand, that veils the eye suffused;
He sees his orphan'd boy look up, and strive
The widow'd heart to soothe. His spirit leans
On God. Nor does he leave his weekly vigil
Though tempests ride o'er welkin-lashing waves
On winds of cloudless wing;t though lightnings
So vivid, that the stars are hid and seen
In awful alternation: Calm he views
The far exploding firmament, and dares
To hope one bolt in mercy is reserved
For his release: and yet he is resign'd
To live; because full well he is assured,
Thy hand does lead him, thy right hand upholds.‡
And thy right hand does lead him. Lo! at last,
One sacred eve, he hears, faint from the deep,
Music remote, swelling at intervals,
As if th' imbodied spirit of such sounds
Came slowly floating on the shoreward wave:
The cadence well he knows,-a hymn of old,
Where sweetly is rehearsed the lowly state
Of Jesus, when his birth was first announced,
In midnight music, by an angel choir,
To Bethlehem's shepherds,§ as they watch'd their
"If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me." Psal. cxxxix.
Breathless, the man forlorn listens, and thinks
It is a dream. Fuller the voices swell.
He looks, and starts to see, moving along,
A fiery wave, (so seems it,) crescent form'd,
Approaching to the land: straightway he sees
A towering whiteness; 'tis the heaven-fill'd sails
That waft the mission'd men, who have renounced
Their homes, their country, nay, almost the world,
Bearing glad tidings to the farthest isles
Of ocean, that the dead shall rise again.
Forward the gleam-girt castle coastwise glides ;
It seems as it would pass away. To cry
The wretched man in vain attempts, in vain,
Powerless his voice as in a fearful dream:
Not so his hand: he strikes the flint, a blaze
Mounts from the ready heap of wither'd leaves:
The music ceases, accents harsh succeed,
Harsh, but most grateful: downward drop the
Ingulf'd the anchor sinks; the boat is launch'd;
But cautious lies aloof till morning dawn:
O then the transport of the man unused
To other human voice besides his own,-
His native tongue to hear! he breathes at home,
Though earth's diameter is interposed.
Of perils of the sea he has no dread,
Full well assured the mission'd bark is safe,
Held in the hollow of th' Almighty's hand.
(And signal thy deliverances have been
Of these thy messengers of peace and joy.)
From storms that loudly threaten to unfix
Islands rock-rooted in the ocean's bed,
Thou dost deliver them, and from the calm,
More dreadful than the storm, when motionless
Upon the purple deep the vessel lies
For days, for nights, illumed by phosphor lamps;
When sea-birds seem in nests of flame to float
When backward starts the boldest mariner
To see, while o'er the side he leans, his face
As if deep tinged with blood.-
Miraculous, were oft received with scorn; Oft did their words fall powerless, though enforced "They that go down to the sea in ships, that do busi-By deeds that mark'd Omnipotence their friend: ness in great waters; these see the works of the Lord, But, when their efforts fail'd, unweariedly and his wonders in the deep." Psal. cvii. They onward went, rejoicing in their course.
+In the tropical regions, the sky during storms is often
without a cloud.
§ "And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flocks by night. And lo! the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them, and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not, for, behold! I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David, a Saviour, who is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you, Ye shall find
Let worldly men The cause and combatants contemptuous scorn, And call fanatics them who hazard health And life in testifying of the truth, Who joy and glory in the cross of Christ! What were the Galilean fishermen But messengers, commission'd to announce The resurrection, and the life to come!
They too, though clothed with power of mighty works
the babe wrapped in swaddling-clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men." Luke ii. 8-14.
"In some seas, as particularly about the coast of Malabar, as a ship floats along, it seems during the night to be surrounded with fire, and to leave a long track of light behind it. Whenever the sea is gently agitated, it seems converted into little stars: every drop as it breaks emits light, like bodies electrified in the dark."-Darwin
Like helianthus, borne on downy wings
To distant realms, they frequent fell on soils
Barren and thankless; yet oft-times they saw
Their labours crown'd with fruit a hundred fold,
Saw the new converts testify their faith
By works of love, the slave set free, the sick
Attended, prisoners visited, the poor
Received as brothers at the rich man's board.
Alas! how different now the deeds of men
Nursed in the faith of Christ!-The free made slaves!
Torn from their country, borne across the deep,
Enchain'd, endungeon'd, forced by stripes to live,
Doom'd to behold their wives, their little ones,
Tremble beneath the white man's fiend-like frown!
Yet e'en to scenes like these the Sabbath brings
Alleviation of th' enormous wo:-
The oft reiterated stroke is still;
The clotted scourge hangs hardening in the shrouds.
But see, the demon man, whose trade is blood,
With dauntless front convene his ruffian crew
To hear the sacred service read. Accursed,
The wretch's bile-tinged lips profane the word
Of God: Accursed, he ventures to pronounce
The decalogue, nor falters at that law
Wherein 'tis written, Thou shalt do no murder:
Perhaps, while yet the words are on his lips,
He hears a dying mother's parting groan;
He hears her orphan'd child, with lisping plaint,
Attempt to rouse her from the sleep of death.
O England! England! wash thy purpled hands
Of this foul sin, and never dip them more
In guilt so damnable! then lift them up
In supplication to that God, whose name
Is Mercy; then thou mayest, without the risk
Of drawing vengeance from the surcharged clouds,
Implore protection to thy menaced shores;
Then God will blast the tyrant's arm that grasps
The thunderbolt of ruin o'er thy head:
Then will he turn the wolvish race to prey
Upon each other; then will he arrest
The lava torrent, causing it regorge
Back to its source with fiery desolation.
Of all the murderous trades by mortals plied, 'Tis war alone that never violates The hallow'd day by simulate respect,By hypocritic rest: No, no, the work proceeds. From sacred pinnacles are hung the flags,† That give the sign to slip the leash from slaughter. The bells, whose knoll a holy calmness pour'd Into the good man's breast,-whose sound solaced The sick, the poor, the old-perversion dire Pealing with sulphurous tongues, speak deathfraught words:
From morn to eve destruction revels frenzied,
Till at the hour when peaceful vesper-chimes
Were wont to soothe the ear, the trumpet sounds
Pursuit and flight altern; and for the song
Of larks, descending to their grass-bower'd homes,
The croak of flesh-gorged ravens, as they slake
Their thirst in hoof-prints fill'd with gore, disturbs
The stupor of the dying man; while death
Sunflower. "The seeds of many plants of this kind are furnished with a plume, by which admirable mechanism they are disseminated far from their parent stem." -Darwin.
+ Church steeples are frequently used as signal posts.
Triumphantly sails down th' ensanguined stream, On corses throned, and crown'd with shiver'd boughs, That erst hung imaged in the crystal tide.*
And what the harvest of these bloody fields?
A double weight of fetters to the slave,
And chains on arms that wielded freedom's sword.
Spirit of Tell! and art thou doom'd to see
Thy mountains, that confess'd no other chains
Than what the wintry elements had forged,—
Thy vales, where freedom, and her stern compeer,
Proud, virtuous poverty, their noble state
Maintain'd, amid surrounding threats of wealth,
Of superstition, and tyrannic sway-
Spirit of Tell! and art thou doom'd to see
That land subdued by slavery's basest slaves;
By men, whose lips pronounce the sacred name,
Of liberty, then kiss the despot's foot?
Helvetia! hadst thou to thyself been true,
Thy dying sons had triumph'd as they fell:
But 'twas a glorious effort, though in vain.
Aloft thy genius, 'mid the sweeping clouds,
The flag of freedom spread; bright in the storm
The streaming meteor waved, and far it gleam'd:
But, ah! 'twas transient, as the Iris' arch,
Glanced from leviathan's ascending shower,
When 'mid the mountain waves heaving his head.
Already had the friendly-seeming foe
Possess'd the snow piled ramparts of the land:
Down like an avalanche they roll'd, they crush'd
The temple, palace, cottage, every work
Of art and nature, in one common ruin.
The dreadful crash is o'er, and peace ensues,-
The peace of desolation, gloomy, still:
Each day is hush'd as Sabbath; but, alas!
No Sabbath service glads the seventh day!
No more the happy villagers are seen
Winding adown the rock-hewn paths, that wont
To lead their footsteps to the house of prayer;
But, far apart, assembled in the depth
Of solitudes, perhaps a little group
Of aged men,
and orphan boys, and maids,
Bereft, list to the breathings of the holy man,
Who spurns an oath of fealty to the power
Of rulers chosen by a tyrant's nod.
No more, as dies the rustling of the breeze,
Is heard the distant vesper hymn; no more
At gloamin hour, the plaintive strain, that links
His country to the Switzer's heart, delights
The loosening team; or if some shepherd boy
Attempt the strain, his voice soon faltering stops;
He feels his country now a foreign land.
O Scotland! canst thou for a moment brook
The mere imagination, that a fate
Like this should e'er be thine! that o'er these hills And dear-bought vales, whence Wallace, Douglas, Bruce,
Repell'd proud Edward's multitudinous hordes,
A Gallic foe, that abject race, should rule!
No, no! let never hostile standard touch
Thy shore: rush, rush into the dashing brine,
And crest each wave with steel; and should the
*After a heavy cannonade, the shivered branches of trees, and the corpses of the killed, are seen floating together down the rivers.
Of slavery's footstep violate the strand,
Let not the tardy tide efface the mark;
Sweep off the stigma with a sea of blood!
Thrice happy he, who, far in Scottish glen
Retired, (yet ready at his country's call,)
Has left the restless emmet-hill of man:
He never longs to read the saddening tale
Of endless wars; and seldom does he hear
The tale of wo; and ere it reaches him,
Rumour, so loud when new, has died away
Into a whisper, on the memory borne
Of casual traveller:-as on the deep,
Far from the sight of land, when all around
Is waveless calm, the sudden tremulous swell,
That gently heaves the ship, tells, as it rolls,
Of earthquakes dread, and cities overthrown.
O Scotland! much I love thy tranquil dales:
But most on Sabbath eve, when low the sun
Slants through the upland copse, 'tis my delight,
Wandering, and stopping oft, to hear the song
Of kindred praise arise from humble roofs;
Or, when the simple service ends, to hear
The lifted latch, and mark the gray-hair'd man,
The father and the priest, walk forth alone
Into his garden-plat, or little field,
To commune with his God in secret prayer,-
To bless the Lord, that in his downward years
His children are about him: Sweet, meantime,
The thrush, that sings upon the aged thorn,
Brings to his view the days of youthful years,
When that same aged thorn was but a bush.
Nor is the contrast between youth and age
To him a painful thought; he joys to think
His journey near a close,-heaven is his home.
More happy far that man, though bowed down,
Though feeble be his gait, and dim his eye,
Than they, the favourites of youth and health,
Of riches, and of fame, who have renounced
The glorious promise of the life to come,
Clinging to death.-
Or mark that female face, The faded picture of its former self,The garments coarse, but clean ;-frequent at church I've noted such a one, feeble and pale, Yet standing, with a look of mild content, Till beckon❜d by some kindly hand to sit. She had seen better days; there was a time Her hands could earn her bread, and freely give To those who were in want; but now old age, And lingering disease, have made her helpless. Yet she is happy, ay, and she is wise, (Philosophers may sneer, and pedants frown,) Although her Bible is her only book; And she is rich, although her only wealth Is recollection of a well-spent lifeIs expectation of the life to come. Examine here, explore the narrow path In which she walks; look not for virtuous deeds In history's arena, where the prize of fame, or power, prompts to heroic acts. Peruse the lives themselves of men obscure :There charity, that robs itself to give ; There fortitude in sickness, nursed by want; There courage, that expects no tongue to praise; There virtue lurks, like purest gold deep hid, With no alloy of selfish motive mix'd.
The poor man's boon, that stints him of his bread,
Is prized more highly in the sight of Him
Who sees the heart, than golden gifts from hands
That scarce can know their countless treasures
Yea, the deep sigh that heaves the poor man's breast
To see distress, and feel his willing arm
Palsied by penury, ascends to heaven;
While ponderous bequests of lands and goods
Ne'er rise above their earthly origin.
And should all bounty that is clothed with power
Be deem'd unworthy?-Far be such a thought!
E'en when the rich bestow, there are sure tests
Of genuine charity ;-Yes, yes, let wealth
Give other alms than silver or than gold,—
Time, trouble, toil, attendance, watchfulness,
Exposure to disease;-yes, let the rich
Be often seen beneath the sick man's roof;
Or cheering, with inquiries from the heart,
And hopes of health, the melancholy range
Of couches in the public wards of wo:
There let them often bless the sick man's bed,
With kind assurances that all is well
At home, that plenty smiles upon the board,-
The while the hand that earn'd the frugal meal
Can hardly raise itself in sign of thanks.
Above all duties, let the rich man search
Into the cause he knoweth not, nor spurn
The suppliant wretch as guilty of a crime.
Ye, bless'd with wealth! (another name for power
Of doing good,) O would ye but devote
A little portion of each seventh day
To acts of justice to your fellow men!
The house of mourning silently invites:
Shun not the crowded alley; prompt descend
Into the half-sunk cell, darksome and damp;
Nor seem impatient to be gone: Inquire,
Console, instruct, encourage, soothe, assist;
Read, pray, and sing a new song to the Lord;
Make tears of joy down grief-worn furrows flow.
O health! thou sun of life, without whose beam
The fairest scenes of nature seem involved
In darkness, shine upon my dreary path
Once more; or, with thy faintest dawn, give hope, That I may yet enjoy thy vital ray !
Though transient be the hope, 'twill be most
"And Jesus sat over against the treasury, and beheld how the people cast money into the treasury: and many that were rich cast in much. And there came a certain poor widow, and she threw in two mites, which make a farthing. And he called unto him his disciples, and saith unto them, Verily, I say unto you, that this poor widow hath cast more in than all they which have cast into the treasury: For all they did cast in of their abundance, but she of her want did cast in all that she had, even all her living." Mark xii. 41–44.