Page:Murphy Delaney.pdf/6

6 THE BOSOM OF LOVE.

—The Woodpecker.

How sweet to recline on the bosom we love,

And breathe all our cares in her innocent ear.

An when the soft passion her kind heart doth move,

How precious now glistens the soft falling tear:

’Tis a pleasure from Heaven, a joy from above,

That raises our souls far from scenes that are here

When life’s busy scene threatens clouds o’er our head,

And frail fickle fortune now leaves us to mourn,

We lean on love's bosom when friendship is dead

And blest in our love, we forget we’re forlorn:

Every care is at rest—all our sorrow is fled,

But the thought that love’s bosom should from us be torn.

And when in the calm vale of years we recline

On that breast which thro’ life’s stormy sea with us strove.

How blest is the thought that whene’er we decline,

We decline to the grave on the bosom we love:

Of all thy choice blessings, kind Heav’n be it mine,

Thro’ life’s varied scene, the soft bosom of love.