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Postscript.
But if you would extend your friendly hand,
The buds might bloſsom and the flow'rs expand;
Rich fruit, in time, each goodly branch might bear,
And Children, yet unborn, the bleſsings share.
O! stretch your friendly arms each plant to save,
And snatch the genial bloſsoms from the grave;
O! prop each feeble stem,'before it falls,
O! succour the distreſs'd, 'tis duty calls;
Humanity's sweet voice calls, those who can
Support, protect, and cherish fellow man;
Remove the sappling plants to richer soil,
They'll grow, they'll flourish, and reward your toil.
Relieve the Poor, whose hearts with anguish bleed,
Heav'n, and your Conscience, will approve the deed!
