The voice of nature, yea, the voice of God Commands to _honour_ those that gave us birth,-- Even her, from whose supporting bosom flowed By far the sweetest stream that flows on earth; Whose tongue of kindness never knew a dearth Of soothing words that could our griefs allay-- Even him who listened to our prattling mirth, Who early taught our infant lips to pray, And led our tottering steps to walk in wisdom’s way: A parent is indeed a tender friend, And, if once lost, we never more shall find A bosom that so tremblingly can blend Its feelings with our own congenial mind; Our lips may speak their anguish to the wind That hurries heedlessly and wildly by-- Our hearts, to lonely agony consigned, May thirst without relief--for no reply Comes from their mouldering breasts, that in their graves lie. And then we pause to think--alas! how late! Of deeds that wrung a parent’s heart with pain; And oh! could we but open death’s dark gate, And lead them back into the world again-- Oh! but once more to see their face!--’tis vain! Once more to hear their voice!--’tis sweetly driven Across our fancy, and expires,--and then We wish ourselves away--away to heaven, To weep upon their breast, and there to be forgiven. _Knox._ _Honour_’s a sacred tie--the law of kings, The noble mind’s distinguishing perfection, That aids and strengthens virtue when it meets her, And imitates her actions where she is not. _Addison._ _Honour_ demands my song. Forget the ground My generous muse, and sit among the stars! There sing the soul that, conscious of her birth, Lives like a native of the vital world Amongst these dying clods, and bears her state Just to herself: how nobly she maintains Her character, superior to the flesh, She wields her passions like her limbs, and knows The brutal powers were born but to obey. _Watts._ This deity, whose altars reek with blood, Though millions bend the prostituted knee Before the radiant shrine, though millions own His power vindictive just, and call him _Honour_, All cannot sanctify what public good What nature’s moral dictates disavow, And Heaven’s almighty mandate impious deems. _Samuel Hayes._