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The thrash that sings upon'the aged thorn,
Till beckon'd by some kindly hand to sit. (22)
She had seen better days; there was a time
Her hands could earn her bread, (23) and freely
give To those who were in want; but now old age And lingering disease have made her helpless. Yet is she happy, aye, and she is wise, (Philosophers may sneer, and pedants frown,) Although her Bible be her only book; And she is rich, altho' her only wealth Be recollection of a well-spent life— Be 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,
* " 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, sii. 41.—44.
Yea, the deep sigh that heaves the poor man's
And should all bounty that is cloth'd with power
Of couches in the public wards of woe:
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
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 crouded alley; prompt descend