A Hymn to Poverty

O Poverty! thou source of human art,
Thou great inspirer of the poet's song!
In vain Apollo dictates, and the Nine
Attend in vain, unless thy mighty hand
Direct the tuneful lyre. Without thy aid
The canvass breathes no longer. Musick's charms
Uninfluenc'd by thee forget to please:
Thou giv'st the organ sound; by thee the flute
Breathes harmony; the tuneful viol owns
Thy pow'rful touch. The warbling voice is thine;
Thou gav'st to Nicolini ev'ry grace,
And ev'ry charm to Farinelli's song.
By thee the lawyer pleads. The soldier's arm
Is nerv'd by thee. Thy pow'r the gownman feels,
And urg'd by thee unfolds Heav'n's mystick truths.
The haughty fair that swells with proud disdain,
And smiles at mischiefs which her eyes have made,
Thou humblest to submit and bless mankind.

Hail, Pow'r Omnipotent! me uninvok'd
Thou deign'st to visit, far alas! unfit
To bear thy awful presence. O retire!
At distance let me view thee, lest too nigh
I sink beneath the terrours of thy face.