Or the sweet dash of waters on the ear, 550
Gladd’ning the desert-pilgrim’s path of fear.—
Whilst earth rejoices, smiles the bright’ning sky
Beneath thy step—benignant Charity!
Can’st thou want advocates?—Did not the voice
Which bade fall’n nature in her bonds rejoice, 555
And, graven on her page of trial, see
“Health to the stricken!—set the pris’ner free!”
Did not that voice, which sin’s fast bondage brake,
And bade, from death’s deep rest, the slumb’rer wake,