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To thee, whose genius, and well-cultur'd mind,
Found out a healing balm for human kind?
Thy skilful hand inserts with wondrous art
The crystal drop the lowing kine impart,
To quell the fiend, his kindling wrath to tame,
And flow meand'ring through the vital frame.
Ere long a pustule, rising in the wound,
Repels the foe, that lurks in ambush round
With all his host; and from our fleeting breath
Averts the perils of impending death.
What thanks shall British gratitude decree,
What thanks, what honours, what rewards to thee?
What annual off'rings at thy hallow'd shrine,
O Jenner! equal to desert like thine?
