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1780–1832

LINES,

Thomas Gent

Sons of Renown! ye heirs of matchless fame, Whose Sires in Glory's path victorious fell; Adding new honors to the British name, That future ages shall with transport tell.

Yet not unpity'd nor forgot they die, For gen'rous Britons to their mem'ry raise; A tribute will their children's wants supply, A living monument of grateful praise.

To the sad mother, who, in speechless grief, Mourn'd o'er her infant's unprotected state, Benignant charity affords relief, And bids her bosom glow, with joy elate.

Great your reward who thus impassion'd move, By nature taught the heart's persuasive play; Such deeds your God with pleasure shall approve, And endless blessings cheer your parting day.

What better boon can feeling hearts bestow, What nobler ornament can deck our isle; Than one that robs the wretched of their woe, And makes the widow and the orphan smile?

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LINES, · Thomas Gent · Poetry Cove