To Mrs M. B. on Her Birthday.

Oh, be thou blest with all that Heaven can send,Long health, long youth, long pleasure, and a friend:Not with those toys the female world admire,Riches that vex, and vanities that tire.With added years, if life bring nothing new,5But, like a sieve, let every blessing through,Some joy still lost, as each vain year runs o'er,And all we gain, some sad reflection more;Is that a birthday? 'tis alas! too clear'Tis but the funeral of the former year.10

Let joy or ease, let affluence or content,And the gay conscience of a life well spent,Calm every thought, inspirit every grace,Glow in thy heart, and smile upon thy faceLet day improve on day, and year on year,15Without a pain, a trouble, or a fear;Till death unfelt that tender frame destroy,In some soft dream, or ecstasy of joy,Peaceful sleep out the Sabbath of the tomb,And wake to raptures in a life to come.20