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To feel the weight of care and sin
Amid earth's narrow circlet bound,—
The woe without, the grief within,
One little year may compass round.

Yet, dearest, as we ponder o'er
Life's "mingled yarn" of good and ill,
Must we not gratefully adore
The love that has so blessed us still?
Yes, we indeed at least must own,
In pleasant lands our lot is cast,
And every year that we have known,
But adds fresh mercies to the past.

Thy natal day has come again
On wings of speed, and still to me,
It seems as if time's lengthening chain
But closer binds my heart to thee;
And if the lot which all must share
Has sometimes dimmed our pathway here,
Yet I have felt no grief, no care,
But what thy love could soothe and cheer.

God's choicest blessings rest on thee,
Beloved husband! may thy days
Be bright, and lengthened out to see
Thy children's children meet thy gaze.
And oh! may we, whate'er befall,
In love unchanged and changeless dwell,
And only part, when Death shall call,
To meet where none shall breathe Farewell.

E.

October 6, 1340,