Classic Poem

Inscribed to the Inbabitants of N EWRY .

Now, when cold Winter's wind and chilling snows
Come, dreadful to the Poor, the pensive breast
Feels Pity inly thrilling at their woes,
By their combin'd calamities distress'd.

When the sad widow, with her infant train,
Stands shiv'ring at the rich man's lofty door,
What bosom can its sympathy restrain? —
What hand would not relieve the suppliant poor?

See the blind man, o'erwhelm'd with midnight gloom,
Amid the glory of the noontide light,
Perhaps he flourish'd once in youthful bloom,
Blest with the precious gifts of health and sight.

Oppress'd with sorrow, in your mirey streets,
See barefoot, ragged Wretchedness appear;
Hark! how his plaintive voice your aid entreats,
Groaning beneath the rigours of the year.

Ye hospitable race, whom strangers love,
And with regret breathe forth a last adieu,
Let active charity your bosoms move;
The desolate apply for aid to you.

With lib'ral hand, a large subscription raise,
And build a work-house for your native poor;
There let the aged end, in peace, their days,
From Danger, Cold, and Hunger's pangs secure.

There let the harmless orphan, who ne'er knew
A father's love, nor smil'd upon his knee.
With filial gratitude, acknowledge you
Their guardians from a life of misery.

So, may Prosperity your town attend,
Rich Commerce spread for you the swelling sail,
May Peace and Plenty their best blessings blend,
And ev'ry social virtue here prevail.