Eternal King, is there one Hour,
To make me greatly bless'd?
When shall I have it in my Pow'r
To succour the Distress'd?
In vain, alas! my Heart o'erflows
With useless Tenderness;
Why must I feel Another's Woes,
And cannot make them less?
Yet I this Torture must endure;
'Tis not reserv'd for me
To ease the Sighing of the Poor,
Or set the Pris'ners free.
Written In The Conclusion Of A Letter To Mr. Tickel,
Mary Barber
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Poem topics: feel, heart, poor, king, eternal, endure, distress, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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