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Thou still may'st find a friend above,
Who never will forsake or grieve.
O child of innocence and bliss,
And gentle mirth, and joy benign,
Fond friendship's wish, affection's kiss,
And warm solicitude are thine.
THE CARELESS HEART.
SAY, can'st thou tell me what is like the heart,
That cold and careless ne'er performs its part?
A garden, left neglected, waste, and bare,
Where light the wandering people of the air,
To catch the scattered seed that moulders there.
