VERSES DESIGNED FOR AN INFIRMARY.
I
Dear loving Sirs, behold, as ye pass by,
The poor sick People with a pitying Eye!
Let Pains, and Wounds, and Suff'rings of each Kind,
Raise up a just Compassion in your Mind;
Indulge a gen'rous Grief at such a Sight,
And then bestow your Talent or your Mite!
II
Thus to bestow is really to obtain
The surest Blessing upon honest Gain;
To help th' afflicted in so great a Need
By your Supplies is to be rich indeed:
The Good, the Pleasure, the Reward of Wealth
Is to procure your Fellow-creatures Health.
III
In other Cases Men may form a Doubt,
Whether their Alms be properly laid out;
But in the Objects here before your Eyes
No such Distrust can possibly arise;
Too plain the Miseries, which well may melt
An Heart sincerely wishing them unfelt.
IV
The Wise consider this terrestrial Ball
As Heav'n's design'd Infirmary for all.
Here came the Great Physician of the Soul,
To heal Man's Nature, and to make him whole,—
Still by His Spirit present with all those
Who lend an Aid to lessen human Woes.
V
A Godlike Work! Who forwards it is sure
That ev'ry Step advances his own Cure;
Without Benevolence the View to Self
Makes worldly Riches an unrighteous Pelf;
While, blest thro' Life, the Giver for his Love
Dies, to receive its huge Reward above.
VI
To them who tread the certain Path to Bliss,
That leads thro' Scenes of Charity like this,
Think what the Saviour of the World will say:
“Ye blessèd of My Father, come your Way;
“'Twas done to Me, if done to the distrest:
“Come, ye true Friends, and be for ever blest!”
