Oh! what is the gain of restless care,
And what is ambitious treasure?
And what are the joys that the modish share,
In their sickly haunts of pleasure?
My husband’s repast with delight I spread,
What though ’tis but rustic fare,
May each guardian angel protect his shed,
May contentment and quiet be there.
And may I support my husband’s years,
May I soothe his dying pain,
And then may I dry my fast falling tears,
And meet him in Heaven again.
JULY, 1810.
