Page:Songs of the Affections.pdf/46

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Aid him,—and me, too, aid! Oh! 'tis not well, this earthly love's excess! On thy weak child is laid The burden of too deep a tenderness.

Too much o'er him is pour'd My being's hope—scarce leaving Heaven a part; Too fearfully adored, Oh! make not him the chastener of my heart!

I tremble with a sense Of grief to be;—I hear a warning low— Sweet mother! call me hence! This wild idolatry must end in woe.

The troubled joy of life, Love's lightning happiness, my soul hath known; And, worn with feverish strife, Would fold its wings;—take back, take back thine own!