The blessings which the poor and weak can scatter
Have their own season. ’Tis a little thing
To give a cup of water; yet its draught
Of cool refreshment, drained by fevered lips,
May give a shock of pleasure to the frame,
More exquisite than when nectarean juice
Renews the life of joy in happiest hours.
It is but a little thing to speak a phrase
Of common comfort, which by daily use
Has almost lost its sense; yet on the ear