Christian Charity anxious to provide for future as well as present Miseries—­Hence the Hospital for the Diseased—­Description of a recovered Patient—­The Building:  how erected—­The Patrons and Governors—­Eusebius—­The more active Manager of Business, a moral and correct Contributor—­One of different Description—­Good, the Result, however intermixed with Imperfection.

An ardent spirit dwells with Christian love,
The eagle’s vigour in the pitying dove;
’Tis not enough that we with sorrow sigh,
That we the wants of pleading man supply,
That we in sympathy with sufferers feel,
Nor hear a grief without a wish to heal;
Not these suffice—­to sickness, pain, and woe,
The Christian spirit loves with aid to go;
Will not be sought, waits not for want to plead,
But seeks the duty—­nay, prevents the need;
Her utmost aid to every ill applies,
And plans relief for coining miseries. 
   Hence yonder Building rose:  on either side
Far stretch’d the wards, all airy, warm, and wide;
And every ward has beds by comfort spread,
And smooth’d for him who suffers on the bed: 
There all have kindness, most relief,—­for some
Is cure complete,—­it is the sufferer’s home: 
Fevers and chronic ills, corroding pains,
Each accidental mischief man sustains;
Fractures and wounds, and wither’d limbs and lame,
With all that, slow or sudden, vex our frame,
Have here attendance—­here the sufferers lie,
(Where love and science every aid apply,)
And heal’d with rapture live, or soothed by comfort die. 
   See! one relieved from anguish, and to-day
Allow’d to walk and look an hour away;
Two months confined by fever, frenzy, pain,
He comes abroad and is himself again: 
’Twas in the spring, when carried to the place,
The snow fell down and melted in his face. 
   ’Tis summer now; all objects gay and new,
Smiling alike the viewer and the view: 
He stops as one unwilling to advance,
Without another and another glance;
With what a pure and simple joy he sees
Those sheep and cattle browsing at their ease;
Easy himself, there’s nothing breathes or moves,
But he would cherish—­all that lives he loves: 
Observing every ward as round he goes,
He thinks what pain, what danger they inclose;
Warm in his wish for all who suffer there,
At every view he meditates a prayer: 
No evil counsels in his breast abide,
There joy, and love, and gratitude reside. 
   The wish that Roman necks in one were found,
That he who form’d the wish might deal the wound,
This man had never heard; but of the kind,
Is that desire which rises in his mind;
He’d have all English hands (for further he
Cannot conceive extends our charity),
All but his own, in one right-hand to grow,
And then what hearty shake would he bestow. 
   “How rose the Building?”—­Piety first laid
A strong foundation, but she wanted aid;