Compassion

When most my heart was lifted with delight, If I withheld the morsel from the hungry, Forgot the widow's want and orphan's cry. It I have known a good they have not shar'd, Nor call'd the poor to take his portion with me, Let my reproachful enemies stand forth, and now Deny the succour which I gave not them.

How few, like thee, enquire the wretched out, And court the offices of soft humanity! Like thee, reserve their raiment for the naked, Reach out their bread to feed the crying orphan, Or mix the pitying tears with those that weep!

Compassion proper to mankind appears, Which nature witness'd when she lent us tears. Of tender sentiments we only give Those proofs: to weep is our prerogative; To shew by pitying looks and melting eves, How with a suff'ring friend we sympathize. Who can all sense of others' ills escape, Is but a brute at best in human shape.