TO MRS. UNWIN.

The twentieth year is well nigh past,
Since first our sky was overcast;
Ah, would that this might be the last!
My Mary!

Thy spirits have a fainter flow,
I see thee daily weaker grow-

'Twas my distress that brought thee low,

My Mary!

Thy needles, once a shining store,
For my sake restless heretofore,

Now rust disused, and shine no more;

My Mary!

For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil
The same kind office for me still,

Thy sight now seconds not thy will,

But well thou play'dst the housewife's part, And all thy threads with magic art

Have wound themselves about this heart, My Mary!

Thy indistinct expressions seem

Like language uttered in a dream;

Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme,

My Mary!

Thy silver locks, once auburn bright,
Are still more lovely in my sight
Than golden beams of orient light,
My Mary!

For could I view nor them nor thee, What sight worth seeing could I see ? The sun would rise in vain for me,

My Mary!

Partakers of thy sad decline,

Thy hands their little force resign;
Yet gently prest, press gently mine,
My Mary!

Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st, That now at every step thou mov'st Upheld by two; yet still thou lov'st,

My Mary!

And still to love, though prest with ill, In wintry age to feel no chill,

With me is to be lovely still,

My Mary!

But ah! by constant heed I know,
How oft the sadness that I show,

Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe,
My Mary!

And should my future lot be cast,
With much resemblance of the past,
Thy worn-out heart will break at last,
My Mary!

TO THE REV. MR. NEWTON.

That ocean you have late surveyed,
Those rocks, I too have seen;
But I, afflicted and dismayed,
You, tranquil and serene.

You, from the flood-controlling steep,
Saw stretched before your view,
With conscious joy, the threatening deep,
No longer such to you.

To me, the waves that ceaseless broke
Upon the dangerous coast,
Hoarsely and ominously spoke,
Of all my treasure lost.

Your sea of troubles you

have passed,

And found the peaceful shore;

I, tempest-tossed and wrecked at last,
Come home to port no more.

HUMAN FRAILTY.

Weak and irresolute is man;
The purpose of to-day,
Woven with pains into his plan,
To-morrow rends away,

The bow well bent, and smart the spring,
Vice seems already slain;

But Passion rudely snaps the string,
And it revives again.

Some foe to his upright intent
Finds out his weaker part;

Virtue engages his assent,

But Pleasure wins his heart.

"Tis here the folly of the wise,
Through all his art we view;
And, while his tongue the charge denies,
His conscience owns it true.

Bound on a voyage of awful length
And dangers little known,

A stranger to superior strength,
Man vainly trusts his own.

But oars alone can ne'er prevail,
To reach the distant coast;

The breath of heaven must swell the sail,
Or all the toil is lost.

RETIREMENT.

Far from the world, O Lord! I flee,
From strife and tumult far;
From scenes where Satan wages still
His most successful war.

The calm retreat, the silent shade,
With prayer and praise agree;
And seem, by thy sweet bounty, made
For those who follow thee.

There if thy spirit touch the soul,
And grace her mean abode;

Oh! with what peace, and joy, and love,
She communes with her God!

Author and guardian of my life,

Sweet source of light divine; And, all harmonious names in one, My Saviour, thou art mine!

What thanks I owe thee, and what love,

A boundless, endless store,

Shall echo through the realms above,

When time shall be no more.