Benevolence, attended by beauty,
By elegance, fashion, and grace,
Makes pleasure, the handmaid of duty,
To plead for the poor in this place.
She pleads! while rich music is ringing
Through halls gay with splendour and light,
Where a voice, like a seraph's, is singing
Of Scotland, her wrongs and her might.
She pleads! while the charm'd ear is listening
To eloquent, moving appeals;
And the soft eye of Pity is glistening
At Misery's sorrowful tales.
She points to the couch of the dying,
Where squalor and poverty reign;
Where the widow is toiling and trying
Her fatherless babes to sustain;
To age, with its wants and its ailings,
Its weakness, and final decay;
Lone woman, her faintings and failings,
While tracing life's wilderness way.
Oh! 'tis where you succour and cherish
The aged, the widow, the lone:
Their blessing, when ready to perish,
Dear ladies, you often have known.
Heaven crown all your efforts with favour
The poor to assist and relieve;
It is found in each generous endeavour
'More blessed to give than receive.'