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,
To see the famish’d stranger fed;
To milk for him the mother-deer,
To smooth for him the furry bed.
The powers above our Lapland bless