His brother, master of a hoy, he loved
So well, that he the calling disapproved: 
“Alas! poor Tom!” the landman oft would sigh
When the gale freshen’d and the waves ran high;
And when they parted, with a tear he’d say,
“No more adventure!—­here in safety stay.” 
Nor did he feign; with more than half he had
He would have kept the seaman, and been glad. 
Alas! how few resist, when strongly tried —
A rich relation’s nearer kinsman died;
He sicken’d, and to him the landman went,
And all his hours with cousin Ephraim spent. 
This Thomas heard, and cared not:  “I,” quoth he,
“Have one in port upon the watch for me.” 
So Ephraim died, and when the will was shown,
Isaac, the landman, had the whole his own: 
Who to his brother sent a moderate purse,
Which he return’d in anger, with his curse;
Then went to sea, and made his grog so strong,
He died before he could forgive the wrong. 
   The rich man built a house, both large and high,
He enter’d in and set him down to sigh;
He planted ample woods and gardens fair,
And walk’d with anguish and compunction there: 
The rich man’s pines, to every friend a treat,
He saw with pain, and he refused to eat;
His daintiest food, his richest wines, were all
Turn’d by remorse to vinegar and gall: 
The softest down by living body press’d,
The rich man bought, and tried to take his rest;
But care had thorns upon his pillow spread,
And scatter’d sand and nettles in his bed: 
Nervous he grew,—­would often sigh and groan,
He talk’d but little, and he walk’d alone;
Till by his priest convinced, that from one deed
Of genuine love would joy and health proceed,
He from that time with care and zeal began
To seek and soothe the grievous ills of man;
And as his hands their aid to grief apply,
He learns to smile and he forgets to sigh. 
   Now he can drink his wine and taste his food,
And feel the blessings Heav’n has dealt are good;
And, since the suffering seek the rich man’s door,
He sleeps as soundly as when young and poor. 
   Here much he gives—­is urgent more to gain;
He begs—­rich beggars seldom sue in vain: 
Preachers most famed he moves, the crowd to move,
And never wearies in the work of love: 
He rules all business, settles all affairs;
He makes collections, he directs repairs;
And if he wrong’d one brother,—­Heav’n forgive
The man by whom so many brethren live.

-----------------------

Then, ’mid our Signatures, a name appears,
Of one for wisdom famed above his years;
And these were forty:  he was from his youth
A patient searcher after useful truth: 
To language little of his time he gave,
To science less, nor was the Muse’s slave;
Sober and grave, his college sent him down,
A fair example for his native town. 
Slowly he speaks, and with such solemn air,
You’d thing a Socrates or Solon there;