 | The miscellaneous essays and occasional writings of Francis Hopkinson, Esq |  |
56
CHARITY, A POEM.
Delivered by the author at a public commencement in the college of Philadelphia, May 1, 1760.
To grace the pomp of this auspicious day,
Once more with joy, we swell th' advent'rous lay.
Oh! thou, who oft from yon Pierian height,
Mid æther pure directs thy easy flight!
Diffusive ardor to my song impart,
And with thy fire dilate my glowing heart!
Say, who is she that first in virtue's train,
With grace celestial treads th' ideal plain?
Her awful beauty dignifies the place,
And modest joy illumines all her face;
Around her form effulgent glories play,
Mild as the lustre of the dawning day—
'Tis Charity, th' enraptur'd muse replies,
'Tis Charity, bright offspring of the skies.
Once more with joy, we swell th' advent'rous lay.
Oh! thou, who oft from yon Pierian height,
Mid æther pure directs thy easy flight!
Diffusive ardor to my song impart,
And with thy fire dilate my glowing heart!
Say, who is she that first in virtue's train,
With grace celestial treads th' ideal plain?
Her awful beauty dignifies the place,
And modest joy illumines all her face;
Around her form effulgent glories play,
Mild as the lustre of the dawning day—
'Tis Charity, th' enraptur'd muse replies,
'Tis Charity, bright offspring of the skies.
On the proud top of that aspiring height,
Stands Ostentation's fane, expos'd to sight;
The front, whose summits pierce the vaulted sky,
Gay gilded glitter to the distant eye;
O'er the rich portal, in a golden glare,
The name of Charity is written fair—
'Tis all deception—charity we know
Loves not to dwell mid pomp and empty show.
There rural joys in vain we hope to find,
'Tis all a barren wilderness behind;
No dying music melts upon the ear,
And not one rose perfumes the sickly air.
Stands Ostentation's fane, expos'd to sight;
The front, whose summits pierce the vaulted sky,
Gay gilded glitter to the distant eye;
O'er the rich portal, in a golden glare,
The name of Charity is written fair—
57
Loves not to dwell mid pomp and empty show.
There rural joys in vain we hope to find,
'Tis all a barren wilderness behind;
No dying music melts upon the ear,
And not one rose perfumes the sickly air.
But down in yonder vale, recluse from sight,
An humble dwelling stands, seat of delight—
Where soft ey'd Charity retir'd is found,
'Mid thousand sweets that circle her around.
No high wrought arches lead the pompous way,
No gilded domes outshine the face of day;
A secret path enrich'd with many a sweet
Direct her vot'ries to the blest retreat;
There, rural beauties all the senses please,
And liquid music floats in ev'ry breeze.
An humble dwelling stands, seat of delight—
Where soft ey'd Charity retir'd is found,
'Mid thousand sweets that circle her around.
No high wrought arches lead the pompous way,
No gilded domes outshine the face of day;
A secret path enrich'd with many a sweet
Direct her vot'ries to the blest retreat;
There, rural beauties all the senses please,
And liquid music floats in ev'ry breeze.
Happy, thrice happy, he whose pious breast
Detains soft Charity, a glowing guest!
Whose lib'ral hand, as far as pow'r is giv'n,
Spreads blessings round him, like the hand of heav'n:
Who glows with love, gen'rous and unconfin'd,
Whose bosom burns for good of all mankind:
Who rears the head of virtue in distress,
Rejoicing ever in the pow'r to bless.
How oft, in sorrows clouded, may we find
The shining traces of a gen'rous mind?
How oft doth want and ignorance control
The struggling efforts of a mighty soul?
See yonder youth, whom inauspicious fate
Hath sunk obscurely in a low estate:
What tho' by birth, no titles, wealth, or fame,
With borrow'd glories deck his humble name?
Yet nature's courteous hand with care most kind,
Hath form'd his body, and enrich'd his mind:
Life glows as warm in ev'ry throbbing part,
And blood as rich flows round his beating heart.
Fast bound in ignorance, by want supprest,
An active soul slept silent in his breast.
Oh! pious Charity: to call it forth,
And bid it rise to dignity and worth;
To warm his breast with sentiments refin'd,
And dawn the day of knowledge on his mind:
To teach him virtue's dictates to pursue,
And place the rocks of error in his view.
Some such there are, without whose friendly care,
Long had his seeds of glory slumber'd there:
Without whose bounty all his pow'rs had been
The slaves of ignorance, perhaps of sin.
Of deeds like these, oh! who shall sing the praise,
Weak is the muse, and feeble are her lays—
But angels silver-tongu'd from heav'n shall part
To whisper blessings to the bounteous heart:
And those who justly Charity regard,
Will find that virtue is her own reward.
Detains soft Charity, a glowing guest!
Whose lib'ral hand, as far as pow'r is giv'n,
Spreads blessings round him, like the hand of heav'n:
Who glows with love, gen'rous and unconfin'd,
Whose bosom burns for good of all mankind:
Who rears the head of virtue in distress,
Rejoicing ever in the pow'r to bless.
How oft, in sorrows clouded, may we find
The shining traces of a gen'rous mind?
How oft doth want and ignorance control
The struggling efforts of a mighty soul?
See yonder youth, whom inauspicious fate
Hath sunk obscurely in a low estate:
58
With borrow'd glories deck his humble name?
Yet nature's courteous hand with care most kind,
Hath form'd his body, and enrich'd his mind:
Life glows as warm in ev'ry throbbing part,
And blood as rich flows round his beating heart.
Fast bound in ignorance, by want supprest,
An active soul slept silent in his breast.
Oh! pious Charity: to call it forth,
And bid it rise to dignity and worth;
To warm his breast with sentiments refin'd,
And dawn the day of knowledge on his mind:
To teach him virtue's dictates to pursue,
And place the rocks of error in his view.
Some such there are, without whose friendly care,
Long had his seeds of glory slumber'd there:
Without whose bounty all his pow'rs had been
The slaves of ignorance, perhaps of sin.
Of deeds like these, oh! who shall sing the praise,
Weak is the muse, and feeble are her lays—
But angels silver-tongu'd from heav'n shall part
To whisper blessings to the bounteous heart:
And those who justly Charity regard,
Will find that virtue is her own reward.
| The miscellaneous essays and occasional writings of Francis Hopkinson, Esq | |