Poems (Sewell)/Lines on the Cold Weather

by Mary Young Sewell

LINES 

ON THE COLD WEATHER, WRITTEN IN A SEVERE WINTER.

 1795.

Oh ye! who sport with Plenty's shining hoard,
Or share sweet Friendship's hospitable board,
Feel for the wretch, congeal'd, in yonder plain,
Who seeks the shelter of his home in vain!
Feel for the Mother, who with pangs opprest,
Still guards the infant, freezing at her breast;
And oh! while slumbers seal its eye-lids fast,
Dreads lest that deep repose shou'd prove its last.—
Oh feel for her, by filial duty led,
Who quits her hopes, to watch a Parent's bed!
Feel for the Peasant, if ye aught can feel,
Who with his children shares the scanty meal;
In such a scene, Love only is not froze,
"'Tis still the warmth his little cottage knows!"
Whilst gaudy Pride (tho' Luxury may impart
Its choicest gifts) is frozen at the heart.

Come, joyous Plenty! from thy heights descend,
Come, like an angel, as the poor man's friend;
Come to the shiv'ring captive's kind relief,
And warm the votary of consuming grief:
'Tis Mercy calls thee, with resistless air,
And such a smile as graceful cherubs wear!
She calls thee far from Grandeur's envied lot,
To view the tenant of the homely cot,
Whose gentle partner vainly may require
The cheering blaze, that warm'd his drooping fire.
Tis thine, oh blest Distinction! to impart
Unnumber'd comforts to the suff'rers heart!
'Tis thine the pangs of hunger to assuage,
To ease the miseries of declining age!
His pray'r shall bless thee, and when griefs corrode,
Shall reach thy bosom in the rich abode,
Shall add a nobler treasure to thy store,
And charm, when gay carousals please no more,