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Which wounds the sick, and heals them by the stroke.
O! Lora! to the Father of the world,
A Judge so patient and so merciful,
That he refuses not the latest sigh,
Nor suffers sorrow but as means to save,
Canst thou not trust the objects of thy care!
O! Lora! to the Father of the world,
A Judge so patient and so merciful,
That he refuses not the latest sigh,
Nor suffers sorrow but as means to save,
Canst thou not trust the objects of thy care!
Hadst thou the power to help them—it were well,
To be most anxious. To collect thy freight
Of human sorrow, and, by merchandize,
Exchange it for the riches of the world:
For health, for comfort, nay, perchance for life,
That gem of countless value, which sometimes,
Not all the treasures of the East can buy,
Tender'd with supplications and with tears,
Is often purchas'd at a petty price,
Nay, in exchange for courtesy. What joy
Must in that moment fill the merchant's heart,
To win a jewel, kings monopolize
The sole disposal of! Be patient then!
To be most anxious. To collect thy freight
Of human sorrow, and, by merchandize,
Exchange it for the riches of the world:
For health, for comfort, nay, perchance for life,
That gem of countless value, which sometimes,
Not all the treasures of the East can buy,
Tender'd with supplications and with tears,
Is often purchas'd at a petty price,
Nay, in exchange for courtesy. What joy
Must in that moment fill the merchant's heart,
To win a jewel, kings monopolize
The sole disposal of! Be patient then!
