O! pause a while, whoe'er thou art,
That drink'st this healing Stream;
If e'er Compassion o'er thy Heart
Diffus'd its heav'nly Beam,

Think on the Wretch, whose distant Lot
This friendly Aid denies;
Think how, in some poor, lonely Cot,
He unregarded lies!

Hither the helpless Stranger bring,
Relieve his heart--felt Woe,
And let thy Bounty, like this Spring,
In genial Currents flow:

So may thy Years from Grief, and Pain,
And pining Want be free,
And thou from Heav'n that Mercy gain,
The Poor receive from thee.