When far each selfish care is driven;
Soft Pity! dry not yet thy tears—
They make dark earth resemble heaven.
For other's weal, for other's woe,
Let me have smiles and tears to give;
And all my busy care bestow,
In some fond trusting heart to live.
And let a voice be murmuring near,
When other sounds are faint and low.
And whisper softly in my ear.