________________________________________________
Title: To My Wife, On The 13th Anniversary Of Our Wedding Day
Author: Thomas Cowherd [
More Titles by Cowherd]
Sept. 26, 1860.
A thousand joys, my darling wife,
Be thine on this our marriage day!
And now I'll sing; for such a life
As we have led deserves a lay
Fresh-gushing from a heart like mine--
By thee well known to be sincere.
O, where are charms compared with thine?
Which, after years of toil appear
More fresh and fair,
Though much of care
Has fallen daily to thy share.
On me old Time has marked his flight--
My outward frame doth tell me this;
But still, sweet dove, my heart's as light
As when at first I found the bliss
Of Ellen's love in silken bands.
And what the future has in store
I know not, but my soul expands
Assured thou lov'st me more and more.
This rapturous thought
With blessings fraught
By gold could never have been bought.
But love--such love as we now feel
Ten thousand ills can face and foil,
And passing years afresh reveal--
We better are for cure and toil!
I would not then my lot exchange
For one where pampered luxury
The hearts of man and wife estrange,
And all is insincerity.
A lot like this,
Devoid of bliss,
Dear wife, may we forever miss!
What though when let but forty-three
I sober Grandpa have become?
With thee, my Ellen, yes, with thee
I can enjoy our humble home;
And the dear children to us given,
With those left by my first loved spouse,
Can by God's blessing make a heaven
For me in yet a poorer house!
The world dreams not
That in our cot
We pure, substantial joys have got.
As thus I sing in gladsome strain
Of my unmatched felicity,
There comes an almost endless train
From the deep founts of Memory,
Of pleasing pictures which retain
Poetic colors lich and rare.
Yet fearing they might make me vain,
I breathe to God this fervent prayer:
Lord, shield me well,
From potent spell
Of syren Pleasures, and Pride quell!
Oh, let us humbly now renew
Our vows to God, my sweetest love!
He then will shed His grace like dew
Upon us all, and bid the Dove
Of steadfast Peace assure our souls.
Thus may we battle on in life,
And as each season forward rolls
Feel stronger for the daily strife
Until at last
Our lot is cast
With those who into heaven have passed.
[The end]
Thomas Cowherd's poem: To My Wife, On The 13th Anniversary Of Our Wedding Day, Sept. 26, 1860
________________________________________________
GO TO TOP OF SCREEN
