ELOVED! on this festal morn, The birthday of another year, What welcome offering can I bring To thee, of all on earth most dear? No gem of price from eastern lands, No rare or costly gift have I, Only a few wild flowers of song, A wreath of gentle poesy.
And though to other eyes less fond, But worthless all their hues would be, Yet, dearest, still I know full well, That precious they will seem to thee. And oh, within the faithful heart, What pure and joyful feelings spring! To think affection priceless deems The smallest offering love can bring.
To me these youthful lays recall The dreams and thoughts of former years, Till every scene that gave them birth Returns with all its hopes and fears I sec the shades of other days Revive with every artless strain; And, wrapped in Memory's dreams, retrace The hours that ne'er can come again.
But never did their heart-warm strains With faults so few appear to me, As when thou badest me trace once more These records of the past for thee. That task is done! Then take this gift From one to whom thou art so dear,— And keep, still keep it, for the sake Of her whose hand hath traced them here.
Another year of peace and love, With noiseless steps hath reached its close, And only found us still more blest Than when its first pale beam arose: Mercy hath still each blessing spared That crowned with bliss our lot below; And one sweet flower, which bloomed not then, Sheds fragrance o'er our pathway now.
What blessing for the coming year, Dearest, can I implore for thee?— The best; that sent to us in love, Pleasure and pain alike may be: That we may still, through every change, Our best affections fix above, And share together joy or woe, With mingled hearts and changeless love.
ELOVED! on this festal morn,
ELOVED! on this festal morn,