Beauty Boast not Of thy loved lot; Though pure as forest snow, And of bright vermilion glow. The fairer that ye grow Sooner may ye spot 'Tis true, I wot, "Tis so! Maiden Fond and gay! Be happy while you may; Sadness with cold grimace, May clothe thy sweet and gentle face, And thus unkindly chase Pleasure far away; Short is life's day, Alas! Sing As birds sing While on the wing With matin songs they rise, With gladness in their eyes. And sweetly string Its voice. Love As flowers do The morn's bright dew; Seek as they do the sun, When his warm rays are but begun Through the cold air to run, Cheering and new; Ever true One! Mildness Suits best Soft woman's breast; For to be sweet and kind Are the engaging beauties of her mind! Wherefore then be blind To joy so blest. Sweet rest Find. Life Flies along Like the zephyr strong; From childhood up to man There seems but one short span. Our hopes awhile we fan With love and song, Then mix among The wan! Death Is most sure; None can endure, Though some have longer days To live and hope, to know and praise The Almighty mover of their ways. The sting that will not cure, Health pure Allays. Grave, Ye get all, Both great and small; The false one and the just; Down in thy cold and sacred trust There enters no base lust; In thy dark hall, Alas! we fall To dust. A DAUGHTER'S GIFT TO HER FATHER, ON HIS BIRTH-DAY. RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED TO MRS. THOMAS GODDEN LITTLEWOOD, OF LINCOLN'S-INN-FIELDS, LONDON. SHE loved her father, and look'd up to him, To him who reared it in the cultured bower:- So did she love her father; for she knew He was the guardian of her infant years; |