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ATHER of our feeble race,
Wise, beneficent, and kind, Spread o'er nature's ample face
Flows thy goodness unconfined. Musing in the silent grove
Or the busy walks of men, Still we trace thy wondrous love Claiming large returns again.
Lord, what offering shall we bring,
Whence the kind affections flow;
By the melting eye expressed; Sympathy, at whose control
Sorrow leaves the wounded breast:
Willing hands to lead the blind,
Bind the wounded, feed the poor;
Charity, with liberal store.
JOHN TAYLOR, 1750-1826.