PITY[93:1]
Sweet Mercy! how my very heart has bled
To see thee, poor Old Man! and thy grey hairs
Hoar with the snowy blast: while no one cares
To clothe thy shrivell'd limbs and palsied head.
My Father! throw away this tatter'd vest [5]
That mocks thy shivering! take my garment—use
A young man's arm! I'll melt these frozen dews
That hang from thy white beard and numb thy breast.
My Sara too shall tend thee, like a child:
And thou shalt talk, in our fireside's recess, [10]
Of purple Pride, that scowls on Wretchedness—
He did not so, the Galilaean mild,
Who met the Lazars turn'd from rich men's doors
And call'd them Friends, and heal'd their noisome sores!
? 1795.
FOOTNOTES:
[93:1] First published in 1796: included in Selection of Sonnets, Poems 1796, in 1797, 1803, 1828, 1829, and 1834.
LINENOTES:
[Title]] Effusion xvi. 1796 (Contents—To an Old Man): Sonnet vi. 1797: Sonnet v. 1803: Sonnet x. 1828, 1829, 1834: Charity 1893.