Orphan! in despondence weeping,
Crush'd by want and misery dire,
Or on lowly pallet sleeping,
Dreaming of thy buried sire,
Hands like his, combine to rear thee,
Stranger-arms are round thee cast,
And a Father ever near thee,
Fits the shorn lamb to the blast.
Brethren! by the precious token
Which the sons of mercy wear,
By the vows we here have spoken,
Grav'd in truth, and seal'd with prayer,
Penury's pathway we will brighten,
Misery with compassion meet,
And the heart of sorrow lighten,
Till our own shall cease to beat.
THOUGHTS ON RETURNING FROM CHURCH.
The listening ear the hallow'd strain
Has caught from lips devoutly wise,
But what my heart has been thy gain
From all these precepts of the skies?
Contrition s lesson have they taught?
The oft-forgotten vow renew'd?
Or gently touch'd thy glowing thought
With the blest warmth of gratitude?
