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The better lot in life is thine!
Ah! how much dost thou owe
To those who perish and who pine
In life’s sad paths below!
What misery is around thy way—
A misery thou canst aid:
Seek in the winter hut of clay
Where wretchedness is laid.
Where the pale mother turns to weep
O’er food she loathes to share;
Or watches o’er her children’s sleep,
And thinks how pale they are.
Lady! thou may’st to childhood’s cheek
Bring back the early rose;
The heads that bend, the hearts that break,
May owe to you repose.
The dearest blessing fortune hath
Amid such scenes, is found
When smiles, like thine, shed o’er their path
A moral sunshine round.
