No evil counsels in his breast abide,

There joy, and love, and gratitude reside.

The wish that Roman necks in one were found, That he who form'd the wish might deal the wound,

This man had never heard; but of the kind,

Is that desire which rises in his mind;
He'd have all English hands (for further he
Cannot conceive extends our charity),
All but his own, in one right-hand to grow,
And then what hearty shake would he bestow.
“How rose the building?”—Piety first laid
A strong foundation, but she wanted aid;
To Wealth unwieldy was her prayer address'd,
Who largely gave, and she the donor bless'd:
Unwieldy Wealth then to his couch withdrew,
And took the sweetest sleep he ever knew.

Then busy Vanity sustain'd her part,

"And much," she said, "it moved her tender heart; "To her all kinds of man's distress were known,

“And all her heart adopted as its own.”

Then Science came—his talents he display'd,

And Charity with joy the dome survey'd ;
Skill, Wealth, and Vanity, obtain the fame,
And Piety, the joy that makes no claim.

Patrons there are, and governors, from whom
The greater aid and guiding orders come;

Who voluntary cares and labours take,
The sufferers' servants for the service' sake;
Of these a part I give you-but a part,—
Some hearts are hidden, some have not a heart.
First let me praise-for so I best shall paint
That pious moralist, that reasoning saint!
Can I of worth like thine, Eusebius, speak ?
The man is willing, but the muse is weak ;—
'Tis thine to wait on wo! to soothe! to heal!
With learning social, and polite with zeal :
In thy pure breast although the passions dwell,
They 're train'd by virtue and no more rebel;
But have so long been active on her side,
That passion now might be itself the guide.

Law, conscience, honour, all obey'd; all give
Th' approving voice, and make it bliss to live;
While faith, when life can nothing more supply,
Shall strengthen hope, and make it bliss to die.
He preaches, speaks and writes with manly sense,
No weak neglect, no labour'd eloquence;

Goodness and wisdom are in all his ways,

The rude revere him and the wicked praise.
Upon humility his virtues grow,

And tower so high because so fix'd below;

As wider spreads the oak his boughs around,

When deeper with his roots he digs the solid ground.

By him, from ward to ward, is every aid
The sufferer needs, with every care convey'd:
Like the good tree he brings his treasure forth,
And, like the tree, unconscious of his worth:
Meek as the poorest Publican is he,
And strict as lives the straitest Pharisee;
Of both, in him unite the better part,

The blameless conduct and the humble heart.
Yet he escapes not; he, with some, is wise
In carnal things, and loves to moralize:
Others can doubt, if all that christian care

Has not its price-there's something he may share:
But this and ill severer he sustains,

As gold the fire, and as unhurt remains;

When most reviled, although he feels the smart,

It wakes to nobler deeds the wounded heart,

As the rich olive, beaten for its fruit,

Puts forth at every bruise a bearing shoot.

A second friend we have, whose care and zeal

But few can equal-few indeed can feel;
He lived a life obscure, and profits made
In the coarse habits of a vulgar trade.
His brother, master of a hoy, he loved
So well, that he the calling disapproved:
"Alas! poor Tom!" the landman oft would sigh,

When the gale freshen'd and the waves ran high;

And when they parted, with a tear he'd say,
"No more adventure!-here in safety stay."
Nor did he feign; with more than half he had,
He would have kept the seaman, and been glad.
Alas! how few resist, when strongly tried―

A rich relation's nearer kinsman died;

He sicken'd, and to him the landman went,
And all his hours with cousin Ephraim spent.
This Thomas heard, and cared not: "I," quoth he,
"Have one in port upon the watch for me."

So Ephraim died, and when the will was shown,
Isaac, the landman, had the whole his own:
Who to his brother sent a moderate purse,
Which he return'd, in anger, with his curse;
Then went to sea, and made his grog so strong,
He died before he could forgive the wrong.

The rich man built a house, both large and high,, He enter'd in and set him down to sigh;

He planted ample woods and gardens fair,

And walk'd with anguish and compunction there:
The rich man's pines, to every friend a treat,

He saw with pain, and he refused to eat ;
His daintiest food, his richest wines, were all
Turn'd by remorse to vinegar and gall:
The softest down, by living body press'd,

The rich man bought, and tried to take his rest;

But care had thorns upon his pillow spread,
And scatter'd sand and nettles in his bed:
Nervous he grew,-would often sigh and groan,
He talk'd but little, and he walk'd alone;

Till by his priest convinced, that from one deed
Of genuine love would joy and health proceed;
He from that time with care and zeal began
To seek and soothe the grievous ills of man;
And as his hands their aid to grief apply,
He learns to smile and he forgets to sigh.

Now he can drink his wine and taste his food,
And feel the blessings, Heav'n has dealt, are good;
And, since the suffering seek the rich man's door,
He sleeps as soundly as when young and poor.
Here much he gives-is urgent more to gain;
He begs-rich beggars seldom sue in vain:
Preachers most famed he moves, the crowd to move,
And never wearies in the work of love:
He rules all business, settles all affairs,

He makes collections, he directs repairs ;
And if he wrong'd one brother,-Heav'n forgive
The man by whom so many brethren live!

Then, 'mid our signatures, a name appears Of one for wisdom famed above his years; And these were forty: he was from his youth A patient searcher after useful truth :