In carnal things, and loves to moralize; Others can doubt, if all that Christian care Has not its price--there's something he may share. But this, and ill severer, he sustains, As gold the fire, and as unhurt remains; When most reviled, although he feels the smart, 110 It wakes to nobler deeds the wounded heart, As the rich olive, beaten for its fruit, Puts forth at every bruise a bearing shoot. A second friend we have, whose care and zeal But few can equal--few indeed can feel. He lived a life obscure, and profits made In the coarse habits of a vulgar trade. His brother, master of a hoy, he loved So well, that he the calling disapproved: "Alas! poor Tom!" the landman oft would sigh, 120 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, 130 "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, 140 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, 150 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, 160 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;