TO THE SAME ON HER WEDDING DAY.

Dear girl, full well thou know'st the mind
Of him who pens these simple lines;
A heart that's fraught with feelings kind
That to thy ev'ry good inclines.

In early childhood's playful days,
When ev'ry act was free from guile,

I've watch'd thy little winning ways,
And joy'd to see thy artless smile.

I've joy'd to see thy parent's eye
In silent gaze peruse thy face,
While heaving many a tender sigh,

It seem'd thy future fate to trace.

I've joy'd to see thy rip'ning years

To learning and instruction bend; Pursue Religion's path, that steers

But to a bless'd and happy end.

Nor wonder that some anxious thought
Should now possess my swelling breast,

When well I know this hour is fraught
With that which marr's, or makes thee

No more in sportive giddy maze,

Must frolic now the artless child;

No more the girl must pass her days
In merry game, and spirits wild.

Duty now calls to other views,

[bless'd.

From childish trifles, romp, and play;

Such as present far diff'rent hues,

From those which ting'd thy earlier days.

Those thoughts which once were free as air, And left thee to thyself alone,

Thine, my dear girl, no longer are;
Another claims them for his own.

The graver duties of a wife

Must now succeed thy gayer hours; Though sunshine cheer thy gen'ral life, Thou'lt find a day or two with show'rs.

Perhaps at distant date, another,
Still fonder era may appear,

When duties that attend the mother
Will fill thy soul with many a care.

When with a parent's heartfelt joy

Thou bear'st thy babe upon thy arm, The smile that beams upon thy boy Will fly at thoughts that bode his harm.

Perhaps but no; that cannot be;

Yet still the thought will cross my mind: Perhaps (I'll whisper it), even he,

Thy "all the world," may prove unkind.

Perish the thought! nor lend thine ear
To one on whom the world has frown'd;
Nor suffer his suspicious fear,

To raise a doubt thy peace to wound.

Thy goodness would the savage tame;

Thy loveliness the ruffian bend;

Then fear not him who boasts the name
Of husband, guide, protector, friend.

But still, thou may'st not entertain
The silly thoughts that oft prevail;
Thoughts, far the vainest of the vain,

That mar the good they would entail.

Think not that nought but smiles, fond child, Will play upon his curling lip;

Nor frame ideas, passing wild,

Nothing but nectar there to sip.

Think not that frowns will ne'er o'erspread The brow that beams on thee so fairly;

Banish such fondness from thy head,
Thou'lt pay, thou'lt pay for it too dearly.

In commerce with life's busy scenes,

A thousand crosses may arise;
Some disappointments intervene
To cloud the bliss before his eyes.

Some villain may his trust abuse,
To gain his own too worldly end;
And, e'en at risk of ruin, use

The credit of his hapless friend.

Believe me, scenes like these are rife,
The common features of the day.

Whatever tract or path of life,

We hold the tenor of our way.

Expect not then to see the beams

Of pleasure brighten in his eyes;

Such joyous looks and sparkling gleams

Must yield to frowns, his heart to sighs.