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In look and motion, that the cottage curs,
Ere he have passed the door, will turn away,
Weary of barking at him. Boys and Girls,
The vacant and the busy, Maids and Youths,
And Urchins newly breeched all pass him by :
Him even the slow-paced Waggon leaves behind.

But deem not this Man useless.-Statesmen! ye 'Who are so restless in your wisdom, ye

Who have a broom still ready in your hands
To rid the world of nuisances; ye proud,
Heart-swoln, while in your pride ye contemplate
Your talents, power, and wisdom, deem him not
A burthen of the earth. 'Tis Nature's law
That none, the meanest of created things,
Of forms created the most vile and brute,
The dullest or most noxious, should exist
Divorced from good—a spirit and pulse of good,

A life and soul to every mode of being
Inseparably linked. While thus he creeps
From door to door, the Villagers in him

Behold a record which together binds
Past deeds and offices of charity,

Else unremembered, and so keeps alive

The kindly mood in hearts which lapse of years, And that half-wisdom half-experience gives, Make slow to feel, and by sure steps resign

To selfishness and cold oblivious cares.

Among the farms and solitary huts,

Hamlets and thinly-scattered villages,

Where'er the aged Beggar takes his rounds,
The mild necessity of use compels

To acts of love; and habit does the work
Of reason; yet prepares that after joy
Which reason cherishes. And thus the soul,
By that sweet taste of pleasure unpursued,

Doth find itself insensibly disposed

To virtue and true goodness. Some there are,

By their good works exalted, lofty minds
And meditative, authors of delight

And happiness, which to the end of time

Will live, and spread, and kindle; minds like these, In childhood, from this solitary Being,

This helpless Wanderer, have perchance received (A thing more precious far than all that books Or the solicitudes of love can do!)

That first mild touch of sympathy and thought, In which they found their kindred with a world Where want and sorrow were. The easy Man Who sits at his own door, and, like the pear Which overhangs his head from the green wall, Feeds in the sunshine; the robust and young, The prosperous and unthinking, they who live Sheltered, and flourish in a little grove

Of their own kindred, all behold in him
A silent monitor, which on their minds
Must needs impress á transitory thought
Of self-congratulation, to the heart
Of each recalling his peculiar boons,

His charters and exemptions; and, perchance,
Though he to no one give the fortitude
And circumspection needful to preserve
His present blessings, and to husband up
The respite of the season, he, at least,
And 'tis no vulgar service, makes them felt.

Yet further.

-Many, I believe, there are

Who live a life of virtuous decency,
Men who can hear the Decalogue and feel
No self-reproach; who of the moral law
Established in the land where they abide
Are strict observers; and not negligent,

any

tenderness of heart

Meanwhile, in
Or act of love to those with whom they dwell,
Their kindred, and the children of their blood.
Praise be to such, and to their slumbers peace!
-But of the poor man ask, the abject poor,
Go and demand of him, if there be here

In this cold abstinence from evil deeds,

And these inevitable charities,

Wherewith to satisfy the human soul?
No-Man is dear to Man; the poorest poor
Long for some moments in a weary life

When they can know and feel that they have been
Themselves the fathers and the dealers out

Of some small blessings, have been kind to such As needed kindness, for this single cause,

That we have all of us one human heart.

-Such pleasure is to one kind Being known;

My Neighbour, when with punctual care, each

week

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