Yet nightly pitch my moving tent a day's Her lot until her absent Lord shall come, march nearer home. MONTGOMERY. And fain would soar away on angel wings. We pine for kindred natures to mingle with W. R. LAWRENCE. PITY-SYMPATHY. No radiant pearl, which crested fortune wears, No gem, that twinkling hangs from beauty's ears; Not the bright stars, which night's blue arch adorn; Nor rising sun, that gilds the vernal morn; Shine with such luster as the tear that flows Down virtue's manly cheek for others' woes. DARWIN. our own. MRS. HEMANS. The Son of God, in doing good, Was fain to look to Heaven and sigh; And shall the heirs of sinful blood Seek joy unmixed in charity? God will not let love's work impart Full solace, lest it steal the heart; Be thou content in tears to sow, Blessing, like Jesus, in thy woe. KEBLE. O brother man! fold to thy heart thy brother; Where pity dwells, the peace of God is there. WHITTIER. PITY-PLEASURE, For, though spotless herself, she could sorrow for them Who sullied with evil the spirit's pure gem; And a sigh or a tear could the erring reprove, And the sting of reproof was still tempered by love. WHITTIER. In every pang that rends the heart, The Man of sorrows had a part; He sympathizes in our grief, And to the sufferer sends relief. LOGAN. 245 Be pitiful. Whose eyes once turned from the angels to shine And tears once filled His eye beside a mortal's Upon publicans, sinners? O sister, 'twill not MISS MULOCH. Blest is the man whose heart expands At melting Pity's call; And the rich blessings of whose hands Like heavenly manna fall. J. STRAPHAN. [See also BENEVOLENCE NESS.] PLEASURE. Have mind that age aye follows youth; DUNBAR. Why, all delights are vain; but that most vain, Which, with pain purchased, doth inherit pain. SHAKSPEARE. Admirers of false pleasure must sustain While music flows around, Perfumes, and oils, and wine, and wanton hours, Amid the roses fierce repentance rears With even the weakness of my soul upholding Her snaky crest: a quick returning pang The strength of thine. WHITTIER. Shoots through the conscious heart. THOMSON. Short is the course of every lawless pleasure; | Joy graven in sense, like snow in water, wastes ; Without preserve of virtue nothing lasts. Grief, like a shade, on all its footsteps waits, In the embattled plain MILTON. CHAPMAN. Pleasure, like quicksilver, is bright and coy; If seized at last, compute your mighty gains; Though Death exults, and claps his raven What is it but rank poison in your veins ? THOMSON. YOUNG. Pleasure, admitted in undue degree, Mortals, whose pleasures are their only care, No pleasure? are domestic comforts dead? All these belong to virtue, and all prove COWPER. Pleasures, like wonders, quickly lose their Pleasure is good, and man for pleasure made, When reason or experience makes us wise. YOUNG. Who wants amusement in the flame of battle? YOUNG. Death treads in Pleasure's footsteps round the world, When Pleasure treads the paths which reason shuns. YOUNG. O, if venerable Time Slain at the foot of Pleasure be no crime, COWPER. PLEASURE - POETS POETRY. Peace follows virtue as its sure reward, Thou, child of pleasure, art the fly, Alluring to the serpent's snare; O stay! is reason lost? is conscience dumb? Still the dance goes gayly onward! On a scene which earth should hide? WHITTIER. 247 The fountain which from Helicon proceeds, WALLER. Poesy, thou sweet'st content That to naught but earth are born; Than I am in love with thee! WITHER. Pity religion has so seldom found Though sages may pour out their wisdom's And every muse attend her in the way. |