Alas! in that unfeeling heart
Nor love nor kindliness has part;
Or chilling want, or pining care
Must brood, or comfortless despair.
Blest, who without profane alloy
Can revel in that blameless joy!
More blest, in every welcome hour,
If Spring-time smile, or winter lower,
Who round him scatter’d hears or sees
What still the excursive sense may please;