 | Poems by the late John Bethune |  |
PITY.
Oh sweet is the dawn of the morning to me,
And sweet is the evening's close,
And sweet is the lily's fair blossom to see,
And sweet is the blush of the rose;
But sweeter to me, and far more dear—
As it falls from the eye—is Pity's bright tear.
And sweet is the evening's close,
And sweet is the lily's fair blossom to see,
And sweet is the blush of the rose;
But sweeter to me, and far more dear—
As it falls from the eye—is Pity's bright tear.
The charms which repose on a woman's soft cheek,
That gem of feeling heightens;
And the swimming eye, with a lustre meek,
And a holier radiance, it brightens:
For the beauties of earth, as they shed it, combine
With their frailties the feelings of spirits divine.
That gem of feeling heightens;
And the swimming eye, with a lustre meek,
And a holier radiance, it brightens:
For the beauties of earth, as they shed it, combine
With their frailties the feelings of spirits divine.
On the brow of the hero what majesty spreads,
As he bends o'er his fallen foes,
And the soft tear of sympathy silently sheds,
While he pities their wounds and their woes,
And sends up to heaven his forgiveness and prayer,
Like the heralds of mercy to welcome them there.
As he bends o'er his fallen foes,
And the soft tear of sympathy silently sheds,
While he pities their wounds and their woes,
And sends up to heaven his forgiveness and prayer,
Like the heralds of mercy to welcome them there.
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The great, greater grow in the sight of their God,
When they look upon sorrow and pain
With tears of compassion; for Jesus bestow'd
His tears on the sufferings of men:
And pity will shine in the sons of renown,
More bright than the gems of a coronet or crown.
When they look upon sorrow and pain
With tears of compassion; for Jesus bestow'd
His tears on the sufferings of men:
And pity will shine in the sons of renown,
More bright than the gems of a coronet or crown.
The poorest of those who bestow but a tear—
Their all—on the griefs of the poor;
In the sight of their God from on high must appear
Like angels, compared with the miser and boor,
Whose hearts, with the hardness of iron, can brook,
Without feelings of pity on sorrow, to look.
Their all—on the griefs of the poor;
In the sight of their God from on high must appear
Like angels, compared with the miser and boor,
Whose hearts, with the hardness of iron, can brook,
Without feelings of pity on sorrow, to look.
What is it which makes the sad widow to sing,
And the heart of the orphan rejoice?
It is Pity's benevolent offering,
And Pity's affectionate voice
Which supplies all their wants—overcomes all their fears—
And the gloom of their solitude brightens and cheers.
And the heart of the orphan rejoice?
It is Pity's benevolent offering,
And Pity's affectionate voice
Which supplies all their wants—overcomes all their fears—
And the gloom of their solitude brightens and cheers.
What is it which soothes the sad throb of disease,
And buoys up the spirit to bear
Those pangs which Affection would suffer to ease,
And Friendship in sympathy share?
It is Pity's bright tear which distils from the eye,
While the soul is contending for mercy on high.
And buoys up the spirit to bear
Those pangs which Affection would suffer to ease,
And Friendship in sympathy share?
It is Pity's bright tear which distils from the eye,
While the soul is contending for mercy on high.
What is it which makes the dread moment of death
A moment of victory prove?
'Tis the triumph of hope, and the vision of faith,
Which presents to the Christian the pardoning love
Of Him who renounced all the bliss of the sky,
And descended, in pity, for sinners to die.
A moment of victory prove?
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Which presents to the Christian the pardoning love
Of Him who renounced all the bliss of the sky,
And descended, in pity, for sinners to die.
| Poems by the late John Bethune | |