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Of misery-Sore pierc'd by wintry winds,
How many shrink into the sordid hut
Of cheerless poverty-How many shake
With all the fiercer tortures of the mind,
Unbounded passion, madness, guilt, remorse,
Whence, tumbled headlong from the heights
of life,

They furnish matter for the tragic muse
Even in the vale where wisdom loves to dwell,
With friendship, peace, and contemplation
join'd,

How many, rack'd with honest passions, droop In deep retir'd distress-How many stand Around the death-bed of their dearest friends, And point the parting anguish. Think, fond

man,

Of these, and all the thousand nameless ills,
That one incessant struggle, render life,
One scene of toil, of suffering, and of fate.
Vice in his high career, would stand appall'd
And heedless, rambling impulse learn to
think;

The conscious heart of charity would warm,
And its wide wish Benevolence dilate;
The social tear would rise, the social sigh;
And into clear perfection, gradual bliss,
Refining still the social passions, work.

By compassion we make others' misery our own; and so by relieving them, we at the same time relieve ourselves.

Some, who are reduced to the last extrem

ity, would rather perish, than expose their condition to any, save the great and noble minded. They esteem such to be wise men, generous, and considerate of the accidents which commonly befal us. They think, to those they can freely unbosom themselves, and tell their wants, without the hazard of a reproach, which wounds more deeply than a short denial.

To wipe the tears from all afflicted eyes, Our wills may covet, but our power denies.

Cyrus the first emperor of Persia, obtained a victory over the Assyrians, and after the battle, was so sensibly touched with seeing the field covered with dead bodies, that he ordered the same care to be taken of the wounded Assyrians, as of his own soldiers; saying they are all men as well as we, and are no longer enemies, when once they are vanquished.

True benevolence, or compassion, extends itself through the whole of existence, and sympathizes with the distresses of every creature capable of sensation. Little minds may be apt to consider compassion of this kind, as an instance of weakness; but it is undoubtedly the evidence of a noble nature. Homer thought it not unbecoming the character of a hero, to melt in tears at a distress of this sort, and has given us a most amiable and affect

ing picture of Ulysses' weeping over his favorite Argus, when he expires at his feet.

Soft pity touch'd the mighty master's soul, Adown his cheek the tear unbidden stole ; Stole--unperceiv'd, he turn'd his head, and dried

The drop humane.

-But the soft tear in pity's eye Outshines the diamond's brightest beams.

It is better to go to the house of mourning, than to the house of feasting, says Solomon. Let us go into the house of mourning, made so, by such afflictions as have been brought on, merely by the common cross accidents and disasters, to which our condition is exposed-when perhaps the aged parents sit, broken hearted, pierced to the soul with the folly and indiscretion of a thankless child-the child of their prayers, in whom all their hopes and expectations centered ;-perhaps a more affecting scene-a virtuous family lying pinched with want, where the unfortunate support of it, having long struggled with a train of misfortunes, and bravely fought up against them,-is now piteously borne down at last overwhelmed with a cruel blow which no forecast or frugality could have prevented. -O God! look upon his afflictions.-Behold him distracted with many sorrows, surrounded

with tender pledges of his love, and the partner of his cares,-without bread to give them -unable, from the remembrance of better days, to dig;-to beg, ashamed. When we enter the house of mourning such as thisit is impossible to insult the unfortunate even with an improper look. Under what levity and dissipation of heart such objects catch our eyes-they catch likewise our attentions, collect, and call home our scattered thoughts, and exercise them with wisdom. A transient scene of distress such as is here sketched, how soon does it furnish materials to set the mind at work, how necessarily does it engage it to the consideration of the miseries and misfortunes, the dangers and calamities, to which the life of man is subject! By holding up such a glass before it, it forces the mind to see and reflect upon the vanity, the perishing condition, and uncertain tenure of every thing in this world. Or behold a still more affecting spectacle-a kind indulgent father of a numerous family lies breathless,-snatched away in the strength of his age-torn in an evil hour from his children, and the bosom of a disconsolate wife! Behold much people of the city gathered together, to mix their tears, with settled sorrow in their looks, going heav ily along to the house of mourning, to perform that last sad office, which, when the debt of nature is paid, we are called upon to pay each other-In this melancholy mansion,

see how the light and easy heart, which never knew what it was to think before, how pensive is it now! how soft, how susceptible, how full of religious impressions! how deeply is it smitten with a sense, and with a love of virtue !—Without this end, sorrow, I own, has no use, but to shorten our days, &c.

Let any who is conversant in the vanity of human life reflect upon it, and he will find -the man who wants mercy, has a taste for no other enjoyment of any kind: There is a natural disrelish of every thing which is good in his very nature, and he is born an enemy to the world, he is ever extremely partial to himself, in all his actions, and has no sense of iniquity but from the punishment which shall attend it: The law of the land is his gospel; and all his cases of conscience are determined by his attorney: Such men know not what it is to gladden the heart of the miserable.

How shocking to humanity, to see the picture of religion besmeared with superstition, justice blooded with cruelty.

I will not attempt to account for those compassionate sentiments we feel for distress, or that indignation which is excited by the appearance of oppression; but I will maintain that they are the distinguishing honors of humàn nature; and what philosopher will be such an enemy to society, as to assert the contrary?

One should not destroy an insect, one should

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