In spite of adversity, trouble, and scorn,
And all your philanthropy deems
Wretched and ragged, and vile and forlorn,
No son of misfortune that ever was born
Is really the wretch that he seems.

The hardship your pity so loudly bewails,
Is lighter than sympathy dreams;
For habit makes easy, and hope never fails,
And other men's bitterer hardship avails
To soothe a man more than it seems.

Your sensitive spirit may feel that his fate
With manifold misery teems;
But either by patience those sorrows abate,
Or Dulness himself cannot see that his state
Is half such a wreck as it seems.

Then look lest your tenderness, generous heart,
So lavish of liberal streams,
By pity not only no comfort impart,
But even may aggravate misery's dart,
By showing how jagged it seems.

No! counsel religion, courageous content,
And energy's dutiful schemes,
And how to take humbly the trial that's sent,
And how to win Good, providentially meant
In all that so sorrowful seems.