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For me, I make, I mend, I mar,
I order, and must rule;
Those blessings scarcely blessings are,
I have not put to school.
But life at every moment crost
Is overmuch employed;
Nor while I mourn o'er what is lost,
Is what is saved enjoyed.
Each morn for thee in joy that breaks
Thy wisdom, friend, approves;
And health hath marked thee on the cheeks
For one whom Nature loves.
SO HELP ME, LOVE.
For the credit of great Love I must be brave!
For else will they take senseless leave to scoff
Who venture nought for Love, and nothing have,
And boldly boast they are the better off.
But if I show, that having caught a wound
I am content therewith, and rather choose
Wounded to own Love's service than be sound,
Free of his arm, or even emeritus;
