THE PHILANTHROPIC SOCIETY . The Philanthropic Society was instituted in September 1788 , for the prevention of crimes , by seeking out and training up to virtue and industry the children of the most abject and criminal among the vagrant and profligate poor ; by these means more effectually to alleviate human misery , and to oppose the progress of vice . INSCRIBED TO THE DUKE OF LEEDS . When Want , with wasted mien and haggard eye , Retires in silence to her cell to die ; When o'er her child she hangs with speechless dread , Faint and despairing of to-morrow's bread ; Who shall approach to bid the conflict cease , And to her parting spirit whisper peace ! Who thee , poor infant , that with aspect bland Dost stretch forth innocent thy helpless hand , Shall pitying then protect , when thou art thrown On the world's waste , unfriended and alone ! O hapless Infancy ! if aught could move The hardest heart to pity and to love 'Twere surely found in thee : dim passions mark Stern manhood's brow , where age impresses dark The stealing line of sorrow ; but thine eye Wears not distrust , or grief , or perfidy . Though fortune's storms with dismal shadow lower , Thy heart nor fears , nor feels the bitter shower ; Thy tear is soon forgotten ; thou wilt weep , And then the murmuring winds will hush thy sleep , As 'twere with some sad music ; — and thy smiles , Unlike to those that cover cruel wiles , Plead best thy speechless innocence , and lend A charm might win the world to be thy friend . But thou art oft abandoned in thy smiles , And early vice thy easy heart beguiles . Oh for some voice , that of the secret maze Where the grim passions lurk , the winding ways That lead to sin , and ruth , and deep lament , Might haply warn thee , whilst yet innocent And beauteous as the spring-time o'er the hills Advancing , when each vale glad music fills ! Else lost and wandering , the benighted mind No spot of rest again shall ever find ; Then the sweet smiles , that erst enchanting laid Their magic beauty on thy look , shall fade ; Then the bird's warbled song no more shall cheer With morning music thy delighted ear ; Fell thoughts and muttering passions shall awake , And the fair rose the sullied cheek forsake ! As when still Autumn's gradual gloom is laid Far o'er the fading forest's saddened shade , A mournful gleam illumines the cold hill , Yet palely wandering o'er the distant rill ; But when the hollow gust , slow rising , raves , And high the pine on yon lone summit waves , Each milder charm , like pictures of a dream , Hath perished , mute the birds , and dark the stream ! Scuds the dreer sleet upon the whirlwind borne , And scowls the landscape clouded and forlorn ! So fades , so perishes frail Virtue's hue ; Her last and lingering smile seems but to rue , Like autumn , every summer beauty reft , Till all is dark and to the winter left . Yet spring , with living touch , shall paint again The green-leaved forest , and the purple plain ; With mingling melody the woods shall ring , The whispering breeze its long-lost incense fling : But , Innocence ! when once thy tender flower The sickly taint has touched , where is the power That shall bring back its fragrance , or restore The tints of loveliness , that shine no more ? How then for thee , who pinest in life's gloom , Abandoned child ! can hope or virtue bloom ! For thee , exposed amid the desert drear , Which no glad gales or vernal sunbeams cheer ! Though some there are , who lift their head sublime , Nor heed the transient storms of fate or time ; Too oft , alas ! beneath unfriendly skies , The tender blossom shrinks its leaves , and dies ! Go , struggle with thy fate , pursue thy way ; — Though thou art poor , the world around is gay ! Thou hast no bread ; but on thy aching sight Proud luxury's pavilions glitter bright ; In thy cold ear the song of gladness swells , Whilst vacant folly chimes her tinkling bells : The careless crowd prolong their hollow glee , Nor one relenting bosom thinks of thee . Will not the indignant spirit then rebel , And the dark tide of passions fearful swell ! Will not despight , perhaps , or bitter need , Urge then thy temper to some direful deed ! Pale Guilt shall call thee to her ghastly band , Or Murder welcome thee with reeking hand ! O wretched state , where our best feelings lie Deep sunk in sullen , hopeless apathy ! Or wakeful cares , or gloomy terrors start , And night and tempest mingle in the heart ! All mournful to the pensive sage's eye , The monuments of human glory lie ; Fall'n palaces , crushed by the ruthless haste Of time , and many an empire's silent waste , Where , ' midst the vale of long-departed years , The form of desolation dim appears , Pointing to the wild plain with ruin spread , The wrecks of age , and records of the dead ! But where a sight shall shuddering sorrow find , Sad as the ruins of the human mind ; — As Man , by his Great Maker raised sublime Amid the universe , ordained to climb The arduous height where Virtue sits serene ; — As Man , the high lord of this nether scene , So fall'n , so lost ! — his noblest boast destroyed , His sweet affections left a piteous void ! But oh , sweet Charity ! what sounds were those That met the listening ear , soft as the close Of distant music , when the hum of day Is hushed , and dying gales the airs convey ! Come , hapless orphans , meek Compassion cried , Where'er , unsheltered outcasts ! ye abide The bitter driving wind , the freezing sky , The oppressor's scourge , the proud man's contumely ; Come , hapless orphans ! ye who never saw A tear of kindness shed on your cold straw ; Who never met with joy the morning light , Or lisped your little prayer of peace at night ; Come , hapless orphans ! nor , when youth should spring Soaring aloft , as on an eagle's wing , Shall ye forsaken on the ground be left , Of hope , of virtue , and of peace bereft ! Far from the springtide gale , and joyous day , In the deep caverns of Despair ye lay : She , iron-hearted mother , never pressed Your wasted forms with transport to her breast ; When none o'er all the world your ' plaint would hear , She never kissed away the falling tear , Or fondly smiled , forgetful , to behold Some infant grace its early charm unfold . She ne'er with mingling hopes and rising fears , Sighed for the fortune of your future years : Or saw you hand in hand rejoicing stray Beneath the morning sun , on youth's delightful way . But happier scenes invite , and fairer skies ; From your dark bed , children of woe , arise ! In caves where peace ne'er smiled , where joy ne'er came , Where Friendship's eye ne'er glistened at the name Of one she loved , where famine and despair Sat silent ' mid the damp and lurid air , The soothing voice is heard ; a beam of light Is cast upon their features , sunk and white ; With trembling joy they catch the stealing sound ; Their famished little ones come smiling round . Sweet Infancy ! whom all the world forsook , Thou hast put on again thy cherub look : Guilt , shrinking at the sight , in deep dismay Flies cowering , and resigns his wonted prey . But who is she , in garb of misery clad , Yet of less vulgar mien ? A look so sad The mourning maniac wears , so wild , yet meek ; A beam of joy now wanders o'er her cheek , The pale eye visiting ; it leaves it soon , As fade the dewy glances of the moon Upon some wandering cloud , while slow the ray Retires , and leaves more dark the heaven's wide way . Lost mother , early doomed to guilt and shame , Whose friends of youth now sigh not o'er thy name , Heavy has sorrow fall'n upon thy head , Yet think — one hope remains when thou art dead ; Thy houseless child , thy only little one , Shall not look round , defenceless and alone , For one to guide her youth ; — nor with dismay Each stranger's cold unfeeling look survey . She shall not now be left a prey to shame , Whilst slow disease preys on her faded frame ; Nor , when the bloom of innocence is fled , Thus fainting bow her unprotected head . Oh , she shall live , and Piety and Truth , The loveliest ornaments , shall grace her youth . And should her eye with softest lustre shine , And should she wear such smiles as once were thine , The smiles of peace and virtue they shall prove , Blessing the calm abode of faithful love . For ye The promoters of the charity . who thus , by pure compassion taught , Have wept o'er human sorrows ; — who have sought Want's dismal cell , and pale as from the dead To life and light the speechless orphan led ; — Trust that the deed , in Mercy's book enrolled , Approving spirits of the just behold ! Meanwhile , new virtues here , as on the wing Of morn , from Sorrow's dreary shades shall spring ; Young Modesty , with fair untainted bloom ; And Industry , that sings beside her loom ; And ruddy Labour , issuing from his hatch Ere the slant sunbeam strikes the lowly thatch ; And sweet Contentment , smiling on a rock , Like a fair shepherdess beside her flock ; And tender Love , that hastes with myrtle-braid To bind the tresses of the favoured maid ; And Piety , with unclasped holy book , Lifting to heaven her mildly-beaming look : These village virtues on the plain shall throng , And Albion's hills resound a cheerful song ; Whilst Charity , with dewy eyelids bland , Leading a lisping infant in her hand , Shall bend at pure Religion's holy shrine , And say , These children , God of Love , are thine !