Classic Poem

ON SEEING A POOR OLD MAN SHUNNED AND DESPISED AT A SACRAMENTAL OCCASION .

A H ! wofu' wreck of wretched man!
Thou, sickening, show'st that life's a span,
With comforts frail and few;
Thy body, bent by many a year,
Thy feeble limbs reluctant bear;
Thy eye seems wet with blood-stain'd tear,
And cheek of clay-cold hue.

On lyart temples, thin and bare,
The zephyr scarce can find a hair,
To wave a warning round;
But tatter'd rags he finds enow,
To float and wave, and show to view,
Like autumn's leaves of every hue,
That, wither'd, strew the ground.

But see! the thoughtless, proud, and gay,
Poor earthworms! fluttering now in May,
Fall back and back in rings.
Few heave for thee the pitying sigh;
The Bucks take snuff as thou creep'st by;
The ladies rein the neck and eye,
And gather in their wings.

Can feeble age you thus affright?
Can poverty thus wound your sight?
Thus man for man be stunn'd?
Then ponder well what now ye see;
For who can read the dark decree?
What he is now, ye soon may be,
And serpent-like, thus shunn'd.

I hear thee heave the heavy moan;
Amidst the crowd thou sigh'st alone,
And tremblest at the word
Of Gospel peal, that loud is rung
From thund'ring preacher's pliant tongue,
Unto a giddy, lukewarm throng,
" O Israel, fear the Lord! "

Art thou a sinner, old in crimes,
That in thy youthful, healthful times,
Oft stray'd in folly's road —
Now show'st thy bold presumptuous head,
When every youthful passion's dead,
When life's a load — enjoyment fled —
Thou seek'st the house of God?

Or rather, has thy wounded worth
Found nought but cross and care on earth?
For worth has much to bear. —
Has reckless death thy bosom riven?
Has misery and want thee driven,
Till wrench'd of every stay, but Heaven? —
Yet hope — nor feed despair:

For H E , whose grace thou fond would'st gain,
H E acts not as the sons of men,
Nor breaks the bruised reed,
The broken heart to him is dear;
H E sooths, he wipes the swelling tear;
H E bends from Heaven, thy griefs to hear,
A help and stay in need.

What though th' unfeeling crowd around,
Within G OD'S house on thee look down,
For want of rich array?
This borrow'd light must soon decline,
When thou in robes of grace may'st shine;
Some future day, perhaps, is thine,
When their's is wild dismay.