How sweet is the tear of regret,
That drops from humanity's eye,
How lovely the cheek that it wets,
The bosom that heaves with a sigh.
This world is a sorrowful stage,
A valley of weeping and woe;
From childhood to garrulous age,
The tear uninvited will flow.
Our own, or another's distress,
Will force the soft lustres to fall.
Nor can the mild bosom do less,
Than grieve for the sorrows of all.
For he who has nought to impart,
May at least give the wretched a tear.
Twill' comfort the sorrowful heart,
When no other comfort is near.
The Saviour, in sympathy, wept,
And gave the divinest relief,
When Lazarus mortally slept,
To his sisters o'erwhelmed with grief.
He sorrow'd for Solyma's doom,
As he sat upon Plivet's steep;
He thought on her judgement to come
And pity constrain'd him to weep.