Those sad good works, and that laborious prayer. All these (when conscience, waken'd and afraid To think how avarice calls and is obey'd) He in his journal finds, and for his grief 230 Obtains the transient opium of relief. "Sink not, my soul!--my spirit, rise and look O'er the fair entries of this precious book: Here are the sins, our debts;--this fairer side Has what to carnal wish our strength denied; Has those religious duties every day Paid--which so few upon the sabbath pay; Here too are conquests over frail desires, Attendance due on all the church requires; Then alms I give--for I believe the word 240 Of holy writ, and lend unto the Lord-- And, if not all th' importunate demand, The fear of want restrains my ready hand; --Behold what sums I to the poor resign, Sums placed in Heaven's own book, as well as mine! Rest, then, my spirit!--fastings, prayers, and alms, Will soon suppress these idly-raised alarms, And, weigh'd against our frailties, set in view A noble balance in our favour due. Add that I yearly here affix my name, 250 Pledge for large payment--not from love of fame, But to make peace within;--that peace to make, What sums I lavish! and what gains forsake! Cheer up, my heart!--let's cast off every doubt, Pray without dread, and place our money out." Such the religion of a mind that steers Its way to bliss, between its hopes and fears; Whose passions in due bounds each other keep, And, thus subdued, they murmur till they sleep; Whose virtues all their certain limits know, 260 Like well-dried herbs that neither fade nor grow; Who for success and safety ever tries, And with both worlds alternately complies. Such are the guardians of this bless'd estate; Whate'er without, they're praised within the gate; That they are men, and have their faults, is true, But here their worth alone appears in view: The Muse indeed, who reads the very breast, Has something of the secrets there express'd, But yet in charity;--and, when she sees 270 Such means for joy or comfort, health or ease, And knows how much united minds effect, She almost dreads their failings to detect; But truth commands:--in man's erroneous kind, Virtues and frailties mingle in the mind; Happy, when fears to public spirit move, And even vices to the work of love! LETTER XVIII. _THE POOR AND THEIR DWELLINGS._ Bene paupertas Humili tecto contenta latet. _Seneca_ [Octavia, Act V. vv. 895-6]. Omnes quibu' res sunt minu' secundæ, magi' sunt, nescio quo modo, Suspiciosi; ad contumeliam omnia accipiunt magis; Propter suam impotentiam se semper credunt negligi. _Terent. in Adelph._ Act 4. Sc. 3 [vv. 12-4].