Classic Poem

If Gratitude the conscious breast inspires,
When wan Disease and all her train retires;
When Nature owns the sage Physician's art,
In ev'ry pulse that vibrates in the heart;
Ah, say, can words declare that author's claim,
Who heals our anguish with a nobler aim?
Can suited praise—can eloquence be found,
For him who probes, to cure a deeper wound?
And pours the balm of heav'nly Truth within,
To save the soul, consum'd by fest'ring sin.—
When trembling Conscience feels unequal strife,
Sweet is the precious drop of sacred Life;
'Tis Health—'tis Youth—'tis energy Divine!
Accept the praise, oh S EARLE —'tis justly thine:
Meekly thy soul shall take the tribute given,
And yield the glory, where 'tis due—to Heaven!