SENSIBILITY.

1816.

Sensibility! source of all bliss!
Sensibility! parent of woe!

Shall I clasp thee, or shall I dismiss?
Shall I hail thee my friend, or my foe?

Ah! the sadness enthroned on thy face,
And the tear which distils from thine eye,
Would direct me to shun thine embrace,
From thy pensive ascendance to fly.

But that bright glow diffused o'er thy cheek,
And that smile which grief cannot conceal,
Both impel me thy friendship to seek,
And declare if thou wound'st, thou canst heal.

Come then, come, and if ever thy tear
Pleasure's opening flowers destroy,

Thy sweet smile soon some fairer shall rear,
Richly yielding the honey of joy.

A BLUSH.

1821.

There is a tint that charms my eye
Far more than summer's roseate sky,
Or Flora's brightest hue:

See, where it rises! there the name

Of virtue liveth! there the flame

Of goodness beams to view!

Not envy's hectic, rapine's gleam,

Nor wrath's, nor hatred's lurid beam,
Nor lawless-love's mad flush,

May claim the tribute of my praise,
Or share the honour of the lays
Devoted to a BLUSH!

Suffusing Mary's vestal cheeks,
'Tis virtue's voice, and sweetly speaks
A heart of tenderness;

Or when the lovely glow appears
With Mira's penitential tears,
Say then, what is it less?

Now, tinging deep the face of youth,
It shines, th' ingenuous ray of truth,
A promise bright and fair!

Or, mant❜ling o'er detected sin,

It proves a spark of good within,
And antidotes despair!

When love desponds, or friendship fears,
Or vice extorts the parent's tears,
And threat'ning visions rise,

"Tis like the morning's herald light,
Precursor of a beam more bright,
And pledge of sunny skies.

Then parent! friend! or lover!-peace! Let hope persuade thy fears to cease, Desponding whispers hush!

Tho' dark and threat'ning clouds appear, One ray, at least, remains to cheer,

HEALTH.

1826.

Exempt from pain, from weakness free,
Free to enjoy the cup of bliss,
Light as the bird, I long to flee,
And visit other scenes than this!

Unknown to me the languid eye,

The tortur'd frame where sickness stings, It seems, unwearied, I could fly

The world around, but lend me wings.

Thanks to the Bounty which hath given,
A zest for all that may delight,

An eye that loves the light of heaven,
And yields to balmy sleep at night.

And whence this lightsome tone of strength? This taste for all the joys of life?

While some scarce live out half their length, And wage with death a constant strife.

Whence? whence the brightness of the sun? 'God of all comfort!' Thine the care,

Who bade the vital current run,
And health in all its circuit bear!

Yet oft my God instructs by grief

Who would that none should wretched be; And shall not health-that blessing chief—

Some lessons teach ?-'oh! teach Thou me!'

Teach so that, while with Mary's zeal,
I dwell delighted on thy word;
With gen'rous Martha, I may feel,
A soul on fire to serve my Lord!

SICKNESS.

1826.

Oppress'd beneath a feeble frame
That scarce sustains its sinking load,
Dark bodings o'er my spirit came,
And thoughts reproachful to my God.

I saw the buoyant child of health,
And ill-suppressed the envious sigh;
If rich, he revell'd in his wealth;
If poor, 'twas happy poverty.

But I, deny'd a place of rest,

For comfort seek and sigh in vain, Alike where wealth the board has drest, Or where the peasant tills the plain.

Dark, thankless thoughts! no more be mine!
Each sorrow, sent, my God! from Thee,
In kindness all-and what to Thine?
The deepest?-Thine endur'd for me?

Needs must that Faith some proof sustain,
And mark thee well the woes abroad,
The nameless woes-the vary'd pain-
Compare thy lot and bless the Lord!

What tho', as some scarce-shelter'd head
Within the storm-pierc'd hovel shrinks,
I feel distemper's winds invade,
While fever's flash my spirit drinks ;-

If, on the tempest's surges borne,

The voice of God, prevailing, swell— ""Tis thus I teach what, else, with scorn, "Thine heedless soul had spurn'd"-'tis well!

Content, I make but this request

When, Mary-like, oppress'd with care,
I sit, "within the house," distrest,
Thy visits, Saviour! grant me there !

HEAVEN.

1827.

Beyond the scenes where mortals weep,
Spreads fresh and fair, a healthful clime,
Where gales of sickness never sweep,
Nor vigor fears the lapse of time.