Page:Poems on Various Subjects - Coleridge (1796).djvu/81

EFFUSION XVI.

SWEET Mercy! how my very heart has bled
To see thee, poor Old Man! and thy gray hairs
Hoar with the snowy blast: while no one cares
To cloathe thy shrivell'd limbs and palsied head.
My Father! throw away this tatter'd vest
That mocks thy shiv'ring! take my garment—use
A young man's arms! I'll melt these frozen dews
That hang from thy white beard and numb thy breast.
My Sara too shall tend thee, like a Child:
And thou shalt talk, in our fire side's recess,
Of purple Pride, that scowls on Wretchedness.—
He did not so, the Galilæan mild,
Who met the Lazars turn'd from rich man's doors,
And call'd them Friends, and heal'd their noisome Sores!