Whose beard descending swept his aged breast;
  The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud,
  Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed;
  The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, 155
  Sat by his fire, and talked the night away,
  Wept o’er his wounds or tales of sorrow done,
  Shouldered his crutch and shewed how fields were won,
  Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow,
  And quite forgot their vices in their woe; 160
  Careless their merits or their faults to scan,
  His pity gave ere charity began.[14]

  Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride,
  And e’en his failings leaned to Virtue’s side;
  But in his duty prompt at every call, 165
  He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all;
  And, as a bird each fond endearment tries
  To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies,
  He tried each art, reproved each dull delay,
  Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. 170

  Beside the bed where parting life was laid,
  And sorrow, guilt, and pain by turns dismayed,
  The reverend champion stood.  At his control
  Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul;[15]
  Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, 175
  And his last faltering accents whispered praise.

  At church, with meek and unaffected grace,
  His looks adorned the venerable place;
  Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway,
  And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray. 180
  The service past, around the pious man,
  With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran,
  Even children followed with endearing wile,
  And plucked his gown to share the good man’s smile. 
  His ready smile a parent’s warmth expressed; 185
  Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distressed: 
  To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given,
  But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. 
  As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,[16]
  Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, 190
  Tho’ round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
  Eternal sunshine settles on its head.

  Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way,
  With blossomed furze unprofitably gay,
  There, in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule, 195
  The village master taught his little school. 
  A man severe he was, and stern to view;
  I knew him well, and every truant knew: 
  Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace
  The day’s disasters in his morning face; 200
  Full well they laughed with counterfeited glee
  At all his jokes, for many a joke had he;
  Full well the busy whisper circling round
  Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned. 
  Yet he was kind, or, if severe in aught, 205
  The love he bore to learning was in fault;