Classic Poem

Retired to solitude and soft repose,
To thee would I devote this silent hour;
Ere yet in downy sleep these eyes I close,
Ten thousand blessings on thine head I'd shower.

Be thine, dear guardian of my helpless youth,
Friend of my heart, director of my feet,
Be thine each treasure from the fount of truth;
On thee kind heaven distil its comforts sweet.

Not these soft scenes where pleasure reigns with ease,
And grace and beauty mingle all their charms,
Can fully now thine absent daughter please
Who longs to rest within a parent's arms.

Bless then, my soul, the Source of every good,
For this his dearest and most valued gift,
Thy grateful accents tho' in numbers rude
And weakly utter'd, thou to heaven mayst lift.

And as when vapours, rising from the earth,
Ascend and hover in the clouded skies,
Then in soft rains descending banish dearth,
And bid the flowers in mingled fragrance rise:

So may the gratitude, which swells my heart,
And bids my tongue heaven's richest bounties praise,
May it on every act its power impart,
Rule every word, and govern all my ways.