89
SONNET.
Go to thy bed of down, but as the storm
Of winter rages, oh! forget not those,
Round whose unsheltered head that tempest blows;
And as thine own is pillowed soft and warm,
Lulling to gentle slumbers, let the prayer
Of natural pity move thee for the poor,
Who wander outcasts from the rich man's door,
And shiver in the bleak and midnight air,
Whose fate is death or famine. Thou wilt rise
When morning dawns, unto a happy life;
But even existence is to them a strife,
And they are shut from home's soft sympathies.
Hi! seek them! save them! so shall heaven repay
With sweeter dreams thy night, with heavenlier hopes thy day.
Of winter rages, oh! forget not those,
Round whose unsheltered head that tempest blows;
And as thine own is pillowed soft and warm,
Lulling to gentle slumbers, let the prayer
Of natural pity move thee for the poor,
Who wander outcasts from the rich man's door,
And shiver in the bleak and midnight air,
Whose fate is death or famine. Thou wilt rise
When morning dawns, unto a happy life;
But even existence is to them a strife,
And they are shut from home's soft sympathies.
Hi! seek them! save them! so shall heaven repay
With sweeter dreams thy night, with heavenlier hopes thy day.
