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And joy, and peace, and love shall cheer
The son of wintry realms severe,
Who, ransom'd by his Saviour's blood,
Cleans'd in that fountain's healing flood,
Still meek and uncomplaining trod,
And found a mansion with his God.
DEATH OF AN INVALID.
HOW oft, reviving Invalid, would'st thou,
When vernal plants diffus'd their blossoms fair,
Salute the opening scene with cheerful brow,
And hail the genial freshness of the air.
How oft would'st thou the passing hour beguile,
Though health refus'd to flush thy cheek again,
Oh, I shall miss thy custom'd morning smile,
Though pale beneath the shaft of lingering pain.
Placid and gentle ev'n in life's decline,
Though no fair hand thy lonely path did strew,
Well pleas'd to see the joys of youth, though thine,
Chill'd by the hand of age, were faint and few.
