A Father's Pity

How doth a father pity?See the snareOf loathsome vice around his son entwine;Behold his mournful mien, his anxious air;List to his earnest cry for aid divine;Precept on precept pour'd, and line on line,To snatch the victim from a gulf profound;And should those steps once more to peace incline,How do the parent's lips with praise resound,As swell the heavenly harps when a lost soul is found.

How doth a father pity?Ask the formThat feebly on his sheltering bosom lies,Like smitten lily shrinking from the storm,Consumption's signal in her languid eyes;What torturing sympathies within him rise,When the fierce cough awakes with racking throe,And to her cheek the burning hectic flies,How is his manly breast surcharged with woTo see his darling hope, like fading flower, laid low.

How doth a father pity?Mark his faceBow'd in deep anguish o'er his cradled heir,Faint struggling in the ice of death's embrace,With ceaseless moaning and convulsive stare,

Reproachful calling on the parents' careTo ease its pangs; fain would those hearts that burstTheir lamblike nursling's mortal misery bear:So doth He pity us who is our trust,The Former of our frame, remembering we are dust.