Classic Poem

Sweet Pope! how would thy ardent bosom glow,
Did'st thou remain to sing a Howard's praise!
How tender would thy plaintive numbers flow!
The glorious theme would elevate thy lays.

But Lettsom lives to see his statue rise,
Who sympathizing feels a Howard's flame,
And deems humanity the darling prize,
Which must to ages consecrate their fame.
Pathetic Lettsom! many a lisping babe
Shall bless the man who kindly gave it life;
Who snatch'd its mother from a wat'ry grave,
And to a husband gave a new-born wife.
If deeds like these may merit Christian love,
Record them, angels, in the realms above.