Behold, where breathing love divine
Our dying Master stands!
His weeping followers gathering round
Receive his last commands.
From that mild teacher’s parting lips
What tender accents fell!
The gentle precept which he gave
Became its author well.
“Blest is the man, whose softening heart
Feels all another’s pain;
To whom the supplicating eye
Was never rais’d in vain.
“Whose breast expands with generous warmth
A stranger’s woes to feel;
And bleeds in pity o’er the wound
He wants the power to heal.
“He spreads his kind supporting arms
To every child of grief;
His secret bounty largely flows,
And brings unask’d relief.
“To gentle offices of love
His feet are never slow;
He views thro’ mercy’s melting eye
A brother in a foe.
“Peace from the bosom of his God,
My peace to him I give;
And when he kneels before the throne,
His trembling soul shall live.
“To him protection shall be shewn,
And mercy from above
Descend on those who thus fulfil
The perfect law of love.”
Text: Poems by Anna Laetitia Barbauld. New Ed. (London: Printed for Joseph Johnson, St. Paul’s Church-Yard, 1792), pp. 121-23.