O Pity, gentle maid, with eyes so mild,
Whose tender heart doth weep for human woe,
Thy balm descend, on nature's weary child,
And bid his sorrows cease, and comforts flow.
Whose tender heart doth weep for human woe,
Thy balm descend, on nature's weary child,
And bid his sorrows cease, and comforts flow.