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Article THE DEBTOR. Page 1 of 1
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
The Debtor.
THE DEBTOR .
THE FREEMASONS' MAGAZINE ,
CHILDREN of affluence hear a poor man ' s pray ' r O haste , and free me from this dungeon ' s gloom ; Let not the hand of comfortless despair Sink my grey hairs with sorrow to the tomb ! Unus'd compassion's tribute to demand , With clamorous din wake Charity ' s dull ear
, Wring the slow aid from Pity ' s loitering hand , Weave the feign'd tale , or drop the ready tear . Far different thoughts employ'd my early hours , To views of bliss , to scenes of affluence born ; The hand of pleasure strew'd my path with flow ' rs , And ev'ry blessing hail'd my youthful morn .
But ah , how quick the change ! the morning gleam . That cheer'd my fancy with her magic ray , Fled like the garish pageant of a dream , And sorrow clos'd the ev ' ning of my day . Such is the lot of human bliss below ; Fond hope awhile the trembling fiow ' ret rears ; Till unforeseen descends the blight of woe ,
And withers in an hour the pride of years . In evil hour , to specious wiles a prey , I trusted : — ( who from faults is always free ?) . And the short progress of one fatal day Was all the space 'twixt wealth and poverty . Where could I seek for comfort , or for aid ? To whom the ruins of my state commend ?
Left to myself , abandon'd , and betray'd , Too late I found the wretched have no friend . - E ' en he amid the rest , the favour'd youth , Whose vows had met the tend ' rest warm return , Forgot his oaths of constancy and truth . And left my child in solitude to mourn . Pity in vain stretch"d forth her feeble hand To guard the sacred wreaths by Hymen wove ; While pale-ey'c ! Av ' rice , from his sordid stand , Scowl d o ' er the ruins of neglected love .
Though deeply hurt , yet sway'd by decent pride , She hush'd her sorrows with becoming art , And faintly strove with sickly smiles to hide The canker-worm that prey'd upon her heart . Nor blam'd his cruelty—nor wish'd to hate Whom once she lov'd—but pitied and forgave : Then unrepining yielded to heL fate
, And sunk in silent anguish to the grave . Children of affluence , hear a poor man's pray ' r ! O haste , and free me from this dungeon's gloom ; Let not the hand of comfortless despair Sink my grey hairs with sorrow to the tomb .
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
The Debtor.
THE DEBTOR .
THE FREEMASONS' MAGAZINE ,
CHILDREN of affluence hear a poor man ' s pray ' r O haste , and free me from this dungeon ' s gloom ; Let not the hand of comfortless despair Sink my grey hairs with sorrow to the tomb ! Unus'd compassion's tribute to demand , With clamorous din wake Charity ' s dull ear
, Wring the slow aid from Pity ' s loitering hand , Weave the feign'd tale , or drop the ready tear . Far different thoughts employ'd my early hours , To views of bliss , to scenes of affluence born ; The hand of pleasure strew'd my path with flow ' rs , And ev'ry blessing hail'd my youthful morn .
But ah , how quick the change ! the morning gleam . That cheer'd my fancy with her magic ray , Fled like the garish pageant of a dream , And sorrow clos'd the ev ' ning of my day . Such is the lot of human bliss below ; Fond hope awhile the trembling fiow ' ret rears ; Till unforeseen descends the blight of woe ,
And withers in an hour the pride of years . In evil hour , to specious wiles a prey , I trusted : — ( who from faults is always free ?) . And the short progress of one fatal day Was all the space 'twixt wealth and poverty . Where could I seek for comfort , or for aid ? To whom the ruins of my state commend ?
Left to myself , abandon'd , and betray'd , Too late I found the wretched have no friend . - E ' en he amid the rest , the favour'd youth , Whose vows had met the tend ' rest warm return , Forgot his oaths of constancy and truth . And left my child in solitude to mourn . Pity in vain stretch"d forth her feeble hand To guard the sacred wreaths by Hymen wove ; While pale-ey'c ! Av ' rice , from his sordid stand , Scowl d o ' er the ruins of neglected love .
Though deeply hurt , yet sway'd by decent pride , She hush'd her sorrows with becoming art , And faintly strove with sickly smiles to hide The canker-worm that prey'd upon her heart . Nor blam'd his cruelty—nor wish'd to hate Whom once she lov'd—but pitied and forgave : Then unrepining yielded to heL fate
, And sunk in silent anguish to the grave . Children of affluence , hear a poor man's pray ' r ! O haste , and free me from this dungeon's gloom ; Let not the hand of comfortless despair Sink my grey hairs with sorrow to the tomb .