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The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince

Edited by R. A. Douglas Lithgow

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 VIII. 
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PROLOGUE.
  


365

PROLOGUE.

Patrons and friends, your presence here to-night
Moves us with gratitude and pure delight;
For such prompt answer to our poor appeal
Proves ye have minds to think, and hearts to feel;
And we were all unworthy of your thought,
Did we not prize your kindness as we ought.
A band of many brothers, our chief aim
Is to establish an unsullied name
For peace, benevolence, and watchful care
Of the scant means that fall to Labour's share;—
For reverence for lawful things alone,
Love for the Sovereign, honour for the Throne.
Love, Friendship, Truth, our motto and our guide,
Are with celestial Charity allied,—
The angel Charity, so oft a guest
In gentle Woman's sympathising breast,
Adding a milder beauty to her face,
To all her motions a serener grace,
A softer music to her words of balm,
And to her kindly heart a holier calm;
Long may she Charity's blest power obey,
Nor scare the angel visitant away.

366

There is no nobler labour for the mind
Than to assuage the sufferings of mankind;
It is a pleasure to console and please
The widow and the fatherless; for these
We step aside from our accustomed way
To comfort and to help them, if we may;
And your unstrained beneficence shall bear
Hope, peace, and joy to many a heart of care.
Think of the widow, reft of him whose hand
Brought daily bread unto the household band,
He who was cheerful in the darkest hour,
Whose heart was gentle, and whose will was power;
Gone is the friend and husband, firm and kind,
Leaving despair and poverty behind,
While to her mournful eyes a sudden cloud
Covers the earth as with a funeral shroud.
What can she do, and all her helpless brood,
In the cold world, for shelter and for food?
Unless some little largess we bestow
On this poor widowed woman in her woe,—
Give with a generous impulse of the heart
Which shall a tenfold blessing back again impart!
Think of the orphan, whom no father's eye
Can overlook when danger cometh nigh,
No father's voice can soften and restrain,
And when he wanders, bring him back again.
Left to themselves, the fatherless forsake
The path which parent love would have them take;
In evil deeds grow prematurely bold,
Like wanton cattle broken from the fold;
Or still and stealthy cunning takes the place
Of childhood's natural gaiety and grace,
While their harsh destiny implants such seeds
As rankly germinate in moral weeds,

367

Which thrust the flowers of gentleness apart,
And drain the dews of goodness from the heart.
Oh! wake the holier sympathies that lie
Hid in the depths of your humanity;
Help the poor mother, that her care may guide
And guard the helpless flock that linger by her side.
We, the poor actors of a fleeting hour,
With emulous feelings, but with little power,
Ask your indulgence for our lack of skill,
Which must be all unequal to our will;
Deign to forgive our failings of to-night,
So ye will make our self-taught task more light;
For the dear sake of our devoted cause
Grant us your smiles, your patience, your applause;
And at our parting we shall bear away
Glad thoughts to cheer our hearts for many a coming day.