her well, 220
From five years old and upwards; all her friends
Were dead, and she was to the workhouse left,
And there a witness to such sounds profane 223
As might turn virtue pale! When Sunday came,
Assembled with the children of the poor,
Upon the lawn of my own parsonage,
She stood among them: they were taught to read
In companies and groups, upon the green,
Each with its little book; her lighted eyes
Shone beautiful where'er they turned; her form 230
Was graceful; but her book her sole delight![26]
Instructed thus she went a serving-maid
Into the neighbouring town,--ah! who shall guide
A friendless maid, so beautiful and young,
From life's contagions! But she had been taught
The duties of her humble lot, to pray
To God, and that one heavenly Father's eye
Was over rich and poor! On Sunday night,
She read her Bible, turning still away
From those who flocked, inflaming and inflamed, 240
To nightly meetings; but she never closed
Her eyes, or raised them to the light of morn,
Without a prayer to Him who "bade the sun
Go forth," a giant, from his eastern gate!
No art, no bribe, could lure her steps astray
From the plain path, and lessons she had learned,
A village child. She is a mother now,
And lives to prove the blessings and the fruits
Of moral duty, on the poorest child,
When duty, and when sober piety, 250
Impressing the young heart, go hand in hand.
No villager was then a disputant
In Calvinistic and contentious creeds;
No pale mechanic, from a neighbouring sink
Of steam and rank debauchery and smoke, 255
Crawled forth upon a Sunday morn, with looks
Saddening the very sunshine, to instruct
The parish poor in evangelic lore;
To teach them to cast off, "as filthy rags,"
Good works! and listen to such ministers, 260
Who all (be sure) "are worthy of their hire;"
Who only preach for good of their poor souls,
That they may turn "from darkness unto light,"
And, above all, fly, as the gates of hell,
Morality![27] and Baal's steeple house,
Where, without "heart-work," Doctor Littlegrace
Drones his dull requiem to the snoring clerk!"[28]
True; he who drawls his heartless homily
For one day's work, and