There is no mortal drawing breath
Too vile for thy companionship!
The solemn truth when will we learn,—
Death’s vision is both high and low—
From Ewen’s sores thou didst not turn,
Great Pelham felt thy mortal blow.
Thou makest grief in court and hall
When at thy touch earth’s glories fade,
The ragged poor man thou dost call
For whom no mourning will be made!