Benevolence. Dawes

Wide as the sun his bright dominion spreads, Heav'n-born Benevolence her bounty sheds. She, meek-ey'd goddess, quits th' angelic sphere, To banish grief, and dry the human tear. Plenty's rich urn her willing arms sustain, Life, Hope, and Joy, exulting in her train. Her ear is open to the orphan's cry, Her soul expanding, as the poor pass by. From her bless'd tongue, the words of manna flow, And carry courage to desponding Woe. Objects of aid she seeks, through all the land, Diffusing bounty with a Saviour's hand. Thro' prison-bars she darts a pitying eye, Her heart, responsive, echoes sigh for sigh: Nor scorns she ev'n the malefactor's chain: She mourns his guilt—but mitigates his pain. The wretch she asks not, in what climate bred, To what profession or religion wed; That's not the subject of her mission there— To succour all who want, is all her care. With Love's apology and Candour's veil, The multitude of errors to conceal— The long-elapsed inj'ry to forget, And, as the debtor weeps, forgive the debt— Full tides of renovating hope to roll Thro' the dry channels of the feverish soul— These are, O bright Benevolence, thy ways, And these the solid basis of thy praise! When Caesar's fame, and Malbro's deeds are past, Th' effects of thy philanthropy shall last. In nature's wreck, the juster fates shall see Distinguish'd worth; and fix their eyes on thee; A preference far thy honest heart shall find, Before the proud destroyers of mankind. Their lapsing honours shall forbear to save: But thy blest name shall triumph o'er the grave.