 | Poems |  |
92
TO THE SAME.
Ah! why, my Betsey, does the sigh
Heave that beloved heart?
Ah! why from that beloved eye
Do tears unbidden start?
Heave that beloved heart?
Ah! why from that beloved eye
Do tears unbidden start?
And dost thou dread (should heav'n's decree
To that eternal bourn
Of peaceful slumber summon thee,
And leave me here to mourn;)
To that eternal bourn
Of peaceful slumber summon thee,
And leave me here to mourn;)
Say, dost thou dread, that I should e'er
Of thee unmindful prove,
Or fail to tend with fost'ring care
The offspring of thy love?
Of thee unmindful prove,
Or fail to tend with fost'ring care
The offspring of thy love?
93
Nay, deem not so! tho' hard the task
To fill a mother's part;
And many a tender toil it ask
Beyond a father's art;
To fill a mother's part;
And many a tender toil it ask
Beyond a father's art;
Yet God forbid but I should take
The care, thou would'st have done;
And love thy babe for thy dear sake
No less than for his own.
The care, thou would'st have done;
And love thy babe for thy dear sake
No less than for his own.
If God impose the pious care,
And deal the aweful blow,
He'll teach me, what he wills, to bear;
And what he bids, to do.
And deal the aweful blow,
He'll teach me, what he wills, to bear;
And what he bids, to do.
But tho' prepar'd, whate'er it be,
To bless the righteous doom,
My cheerful fancy speaks to me
Of blissful days to come.
To bless the righteous doom,
My cheerful fancy speaks to me
Of blissful days to come.
94
She bids me hope with tender joy
Still, still to press thy cheek;
She bids me hope to see my boy
Hang on thy matron neck;
Still, still to press thy cheek;
She bids me hope to see my boy
Hang on thy matron neck;
With thee to watch from year to year
His blooming virtues rise,
On pure religion's base to rear,
And form him for the skies.
His blooming virtues rise,
On pure religion's base to rear,
And form him for the skies.
Then let me kiss the tear away,
That stands prepar'd to start;
And let me whisper peace, and stay
The sigh, that heaves thy heart;
That stands prepar'd to start;
And let me whisper peace, and stay
The sigh, that heaves thy heart;
For, O my Betsey, why alarm
With fears thy boding breast?—
'Tis wise, against the worst to arm,
But still to hope the best.
With fears thy boding breast?—
'Tis wise, against the worst to arm,
But still to hope the best.
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