Miscellanies in Prose and Verse By Mrs. Catherine Jemmat |
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A PROLOGUE at a Benefit Play for an Hospital.
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 | Miscellanies in Prose and Verse |  |
A PROLOGUE at a Benefit Play for an Hospital.
With sympathetic warmth to feel the throws,
And racking anguish of another's woes;
For others pains to heave the swelling breast,
Where strong benevolence lies deep imprest:
To melt with pity, and with tender care,
To drop, for deep distress, the generous tear:
These are the marks which heav'n itself design'd,
The sterling standards of the human mind;
And these the lines which in the bosom trace,
The fair resemblance of celestial grace.
Yet more it meant than mere compassion can,
By placing kindness in the heart of man:
'Tis not enough to sympathize with grief,
Unless we labour to afford relief;
The will to mortals vainly might be giv'n,
But Power's the great prerogative of heav'n;
And heav'n, who gave that power, will sure demand
Its full exertion from the bounteous hand.
Obedient to this call, with true delight,
We view the fair assembly of to-night;
All met your generous bounty to extend,
And to the sick and poor your succour lend;
While we our little mite with pleasure join,
Proud to be aiding this humane design.
And racking anguish of another's woes;
For others pains to heave the swelling breast,
Where strong benevolence lies deep imprest:
To melt with pity, and with tender care,
To drop, for deep distress, the generous tear:
These are the marks which heav'n itself design'd,
The sterling standards of the human mind;
And these the lines which in the bosom trace,
The fair resemblance of celestial grace.
Yet more it meant than mere compassion can,
By placing kindness in the heart of man:
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Unless we labour to afford relief;
The will to mortals vainly might be giv'n,
But Power's the great prerogative of heav'n;
And heav'n, who gave that power, will sure demand
Its full exertion from the bounteous hand.
Obedient to this call, with true delight,
We view the fair assembly of to-night;
All met your generous bounty to extend,
And to the sick and poor your succour lend;
While we our little mite with pleasure join,
Proud to be aiding this humane design.
Fain would the Muse the grateful thanks bestow,
Of those whom now your bounty guards from woe;
But that the orphans and the widows pray'rs,
And succour'd sorrows joy, created tears;
More free shall waft to heav'n their gen'rous praise,
Than all the study'd arts of labour'd lays,
And your own hearts more true reward receive,
From one good act, than all that praise can give.
Of those whom now your bounty guards from woe;
But that the orphans and the widows pray'rs,
And succour'd sorrows joy, created tears;
More free shall waft to heav'n their gen'rous praise,
Than all the study'd arts of labour'd lays,
And your own hearts more true reward receive,
From one good act, than all that praise can give.
| Miscellanies in Prose and Verse | |