mured sigh !
And can you think my love shall chill,
Nor fixed on you alone ? And can you rend by doubting still,
A heart too much your own ?
To you my soul's affections move,
Devoutly, warmly true; My life has been a task of love,
One long, long thought of you; If all your tender faith is o'er,
If still my truth you'll try, Alas! I know but one proof more
I'll bless your name—and die !
O blessed health! thou art above all gold and trea»ure; 'tis thou who enlargest the soul, and openest all its powers to receive instruction, and to relish virtue. He, that has thee, has little more to wish for; and he who is so wretched as to want thee, wants every thing with thee! Sterne.
True happiness is not the gentle growth of earth The toil is fruitless if you seek it here,
'Tis an exotic of-celestial birth,
And never blooms, but in celestial air.
