The Poetical Works of The Rev. Samuel Bishop ... To Which are Prefixed, Memoirs of the Life of the Author By the Rev. Thomas Clare |
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 | The Poetical Works of The Rev. Samuel Bishop |  |
70
TO THE SAME,
ON ANOTHER ANNIVERSARY OF THE SAME DAY. WITH A GOLD WATCH.
Memory, this Morn, was turning o'er
It's treasur'd matrimonial store;
All, mutual troth had meant, or done,
Since those first vows, that made us One.
It's treasur'd matrimonial store;
All, mutual troth had meant, or done,
Since those first vows, that made us One.
Time, cross the spot, that moment flew,
And held his Hour-glass up to view;
As who should say, “No Union's band
“Arrests my course, or checks my hand:
“In vain, tho' life's perplexing lot
“Attempt to loose the sacred knot;
“In vain, tho' pains and frailties try;—
“My Scythe cuts, what they can't untie.”
And held his Hour-glass up to view;
As who should say, “No Union's band
“Arrests my course, or checks my hand:
“In vain, tho' life's perplexing lot
“Attempt to loose the sacred knot;
71
“My Scythe cuts, what they can't untie.”
A tear that trill'd down Memory's cheek,
Confest, what language could not speak;
And bad me, with the faithful Lay,
Which greets, once more, our Nuptial Day,
Commend, dear Mary, to your care,
The votive gift, the Watch, I bear;
That when Time counts his reck'ning, You
May have your Regulator too.
Confest, what language could not speak;
And bad me, with the faithful Lay,
Which greets, once more, our Nuptial Day,
Commend, dear Mary, to your care,
The votive gift, the Watch, I bear;
That when Time counts his reck'ning, You
May have your Regulator too.
For mine then, and for Memory's sake,
The sure, tho' silent Monitor take;
And on it's surface when you trace,
Your present Being's lessening space,
Let hints from past exertions caught,
To future scenes exalt your thought;—
Adjust your judgment of events,
By facts your own Desert presents;—
Recall th' applause to merit due,
At once, so various, and so true;—
Renew the glow, complacence found,
Whene'er it dealt complacence round;—
Revive the energy, which of yore,
Infirmity's frequent pressure bore;—
Thro' fortune's fathomless obscure,
Lead patient worth, and purpose pure;—
And strength to ev'ry spring impart,
Which actuates a Superior Heart.
—Whene'er, in short, beneath your eye,
The hours, in measur'd motion fly,
Let each a kind concern suggest,
For him, with whom you'll share the rest:
Think, all he asks of Heav'n to give,
Is with you, and for you to live!
Think, 'tis his prime ambition's scope,
His happiest theme, his dearest hope,
From labours too severe redeem'd,
Esteeming you, by you esteem'd,
Sustaining you, by you sustain'd,
To wait resign'd, th' award ordain'd;
Enjoy your joys, sooth your repose,
Till Love and Life together close.
The sure, tho' silent Monitor take;
And on it's surface when you trace,
Your present Being's lessening space,
Let hints from past exertions caught,
To future scenes exalt your thought;—
Adjust your judgment of events,
By facts your own Desert presents;—
72
At once, so various, and so true;—
Renew the glow, complacence found,
Whene'er it dealt complacence round;—
Revive the energy, which of yore,
Infirmity's frequent pressure bore;—
Thro' fortune's fathomless obscure,
Lead patient worth, and purpose pure;—
And strength to ev'ry spring impart,
Which actuates a Superior Heart.
—Whene'er, in short, beneath your eye,
The hours, in measur'd motion fly,
Let each a kind concern suggest,
For him, with whom you'll share the rest:
Think, all he asks of Heav'n to give,
Is with you, and for you to live!
Think, 'tis his prime ambition's scope,
His happiest theme, his dearest hope,
73
Esteeming you, by you esteem'd,
Sustaining you, by you sustain'd,
To wait resign'd, th' award ordain'd;
Enjoy your joys, sooth your repose,
Till Love and Life together close.
Let Time, meanwhile, indulge his spite,
Swift as he is, his swiftest flight,
(Whate'er impressions mark his speed
Tow'rd that last home, for all decreed,)
Will but attest Affection's power,
To plant, in every step, a Flower.
Swift as he is, his swiftest flight,
(Whate'er impressions mark his speed
Tow'rd that last home, for all decreed,)
Will but attest Affection's power,
To plant, in every step, a Flower.
| The Poetical Works of The Rev. Samuel Bishop | |