Sweet Mercy! how my very heart has bled To see thee, poor Old Man! and thy grey hairs Hoar with the snowy blast: while no one cares To clothe thy shrivelled limbs and palsied head. My Father! throw away this tattered vest That mocks thy shivering! take my garment -- use A young man's arm! I'll melt these frozen dews That hang from thy white beard and numb thy breast. My Sara too shall tend thee, like a Child: And thou shalt talk, in our fire-side's recess, Of purple pride, that scowls on wretchedness. He did not so, the Galilean mild, Who met the Lazars turned from rich men's doors, And called them Friends, and healed their noisome sores! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO THE FAIR CLARINDA, WHO MADE LOVE TO ME by APHRA BEHN THE AUTHOR TO HER BOOK by ANNE BRADSTREET A DEATH SCENE by EMILY JANE BRONTE THE EXCHANGE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE ULTIMA THULE: MY CATHEDRAL by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW TO A CAT by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE THE DIVISION OF POLAND by EDWIN ARNOLD SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 39. NOT CHRIST, BUT CHRIST'S GOD by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |