Classic Poem

Shall Charity with liberal Hand
Her genial Gifts bestow?
And shall my raptur'd Bosom cease
With Gratitude to glow?

Ungrateful shall my Tongue forbear
Your Bounty to reveal?
Whilst God , who gives me Pow'r to think,
Shall give me Pow'r to feel.

'Tis by your Aid that I am taught
To walk in Virtue's Road;
And shun the flow'ry Paths of Vice
That lead me from my God .

'Tis Vice that with unerring Dart
Can give a deadly Blow:
What Thanks shoud then be paid to those
That snatch me from the Foe?

'Tis you that with paternal Care
Conduct me on my Way,
Along the darken'd Vale of Life,
And point eternal Day.

But shoud the World's encircling Snares
Betray my giddy Youth:
You stand uncharg'd — who train'd my Mind
To Rectitude, and Truth.

Thus tho' the Hand that fixt my Lot
A scanty Boon has giv'n:
'Tis you direct the Means to gain
The boundless Stores of Heav'n.

Oh! may each Minute of your Days
In Scenes of Transport fly!
Till Justice bids the Curtain drop,
And gives you endless Joy.

But chiefly shall my ardent Soul
His sovereign Goodness shew,
Who touch'd your Hearts, and bid the Stream.
Of Charity to flow.

For ever may his Name be blest,
As 'tis in Realms above;
For Angels spend ambrosial Hours
In Songs of Praise, and Love.

That Breath which gracious Heav'n affords,
Let us in Thanks restore;
And, whilst we on its Mercies live,
Submissively adore.

Glory to God — who sits enthron'd
Above the starry Frame;
Glory to God — with general Joy,
Let Nature's Voice proclaim.