32. Like a summer storm awhile you're cloudy,
Burst out in thunder and impetuous showers,
But straight the sun of beauty dawns abroad,
And all the fair horizon is serene.
Nicholas Rowe.
33. Think not the good,
The gentle deeds of mercy thou hast done
Shall die forgotten all; the poor, the prisoner,
The fatherless, the friendless, and the widow,
Who daily own the bounty of thy hand,