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to Hope's delusive mine,
 * As on we toil from day to day,

By sudden blast or slow decline
 * Our social comforts drop away.

Well try'd through many a varying year,
 * See Levett to the grave descend;

Officious, innocent, sincere,
 * Of every friendless name the friend.

Yet still he fills affection's eye,
 * Obscurely wise, and coarsely kind;

Nor, letter'd arrogance, deny
 * Thy praise to merit unrefin'd.

When fainting Nature call'd for aid,
 * And hov'ring Death prepar'd the blow,

His vigorous remedy display'd
 * The power of art without the show.

In Misery's darkest caverns known,
 * His ready help was ever nigh,

Where hopeless Anguish pour'd his groan,
 * And lonely Want retir'd to die.

No summons mock'd by chill delay,
 * No petty gains disdain'd by pride;

The modest wants of every day
 * The toil of every day supply'd.