Thy spirits have a fainter flow,
I see thee daily weaker grow—
'Twas my distress that brought thee low,
My Mary!

Thy needles, once a shining store,
For my sake restless heretofore,
Now rust disused, and shine no more;
My Mary!

For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil

The same kind office for me still,

Thy sight now seconds not thy will,
My Mary!

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But well thou play'dst the housewife's part,

And all thy threads with magic art

Have wound themselves about this heart,
My Mary!

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Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme,
My Mary!

55.

No voice divine the storm allay'd,
No light propitious shone,

When, snatch'd from all effectual aid,
We perish'd, each alone :

But I beneath a rougher sea,

And whelm'd in deeper gulfs than he.

65

W. Cowper

TOMORROW

In the downhill of life, when I find I'm declining,
May my fate no less fortunate be

Than a snug elbow-chair will afford for reclining,
And a cot that o'erlooks the wide sea;

CCVI.

With an ambling pad-pony to pace o'er the lawn,
While I carol away idle sorrow,

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And blithe as the lark that each day hails the dawn
Look forward with hope for Tomorrow.

With a porch at my door, both for shelter and shade too,
As the sunshine or rain may prevail ;

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And a small spot of ground for the use of the spade too,

With a barn for the use of the flail :

A cow for my dairy, a dog for my game,

And a purse when a friend wants to borrow;

I'll envy no Nabob his riches or fame,

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Or what honours may wait him Tomorrow.

From the bleak northern blast may my cot be completely Secured by a neighbouring hill;

And at night may repose steal upon me more sweetly
By the sound of a murmuring rill:

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And while peace and plenty I find at my board,
With a heart free from sickness and sorrow,

With my friends may I share what Today may afford,
And let them spread the table Tomorrow.

And when I at last must throw off this frail cov'ring
Which I've worn for three-score years and ten,

On the brink of the grave I'll not seek to keep hov'ring,
Nor my thread wish to spin o'er again :

But my face in the glass I'll serenely survey,

And with smiles count each wrinkle and furrow;
As this old worn-out stuff, which is threadbare Today,
May become Everlasting Tomorrow.

J. Collins

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56.

Life! I know not what thou art,

But know that thou and I must part;
And when, or how, or where we met
I own to me's a secret yet.

Life! we've been long together

Through pleasant and through cloudy weather;
'Tis hard to part when friends are dear –
Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear;

-Then steal away, give little warning,

Choose thine own time;

Say not Good Night, but in some brighter clime

Bid me Good Morning.

CCVII.

A. L. Barbauld

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