Thus her compassion woman shows,
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Beneath the line her acts are these;
Nor the wide waste of Lapland-snows
Can her warm flow of pity freeze:—
"From some sad land the stranger comes,
Where joys, like ours, are never found;
Let's soothe him in our happy homes,
Where freedom sits, with plenty crown'd.
"'Tis good the fainting soul to cheer,