Mr. Wealthy

Well! now my dear, beloved Wife,
We must extend our plan of life.
How will our country cousins stare,
To see me soon a great Lord-May'r!

MRS. Wealthy.

The rich State-Coach you will not grace,
Adorn'd by Chaplain, Sword, and Mace.
As for myself, the golden Chain
I must confess will make me vain;
And then how much shall be delighted,
When by his Majesty you're knighted!
Adieu now to my one horse chair,
I'll have a Coach to take the air.

O ye tears! O ye tears! that have long refused to flow,
Ye are welcome to my heart, thawing, thawing, like the snow;
I feel, the hard clod soften, and the early snow-drops spring,
And the healing fountains gush, and the wildernesses sing.

O ye tears! O ye tears! I am thankful that ye run;
Though ye trickle in the darkness, ye shall glisten in the sun.
The rainbow cannot shine, if the drops refuse to fall,
And the eyes that cannot weep, are the saddest eyes of all.

O ye tears! O ye tears! till I felt ye on my cheek,

Blest be the dear uniting love,
That will not let us part!
Our bodies may far off remove,
We still are one in heart.

Join'd in one spirit to our Head,
Where he appoints we go;
We still in Jesus' footsteps tread,
And still his praise we show.

Richly we share the Savior's grace,
We're one in mind and heart;
Not joy, nor grief — not time, nor place,
Not life, nor death — can part.

Heav'nly Father — sovereign Lord!
Be thy glorious name ador'd;
Lord! thy mercies never fail;
Hail, celestial goodness! hail!

Though unworthy, Lord! thine ear,
Deign our humble songs to hear;
Purer praise we hope to bring,
When around thy throne we sing.

While on earth ordain'd to stay,
Guide our footsteps in thy way,
Till we come to dwell with thee,
Till we all thy glory see.

Then, with angel-harps again,
We will wake a nobler strain;
There, in joyful songs of praise,
Our triumphant voices raise.

My Muse by thee restored to life,
To thee, Disdain, this altar rears;
Whereon she offers causeless strife,
Self-spending sighs, and bootless tears.

Long suits in vain ,
Hate for good will;
Still-dying pain,
Yet living still;
Self-loving pride,
Looks coyly strange;
Will, Reason's guide,
Desire of change;
And, last of all,
Blind Fancy's fire;

When Venus saw Desire must die,
Whom high Disdain
Had justly slain,
For killing Truth with scornful eye:
The earth she leaves, and gets her to the sky;
Her golden hair she tears;
Black weeds of woe she wears;
For help unto her father doth she cry;
Who bids her stay a space,
And hope for better grace.

To save his life she hath no skill;
Whom should she pray,
What do, or say,
But weep for wanting of her will?

Most beautiful among the helpers thou!
All heaven's fresh air and sunshine at thy voice
Flood with refreshment many a weary brow,
And sad souls thrill with courage and rejoice
To hear God's gospel of pure gladness sound
So sure and clear in this bewildered world,
Till the sick vapors that our sense confound
By cheerful winds are into nothing whirled.
O matchless melody! O perfect art!
O lovely, lofty voice, unfaltering!
O strong and radiant and divine Mozart,
Among earth's benefactors crowned a king!

Now have I learned with much ado at last
By true disdain to kill desire;
This was the mark at which I shot so fast,
Unto this height I did aspire:
Proud Love, now do thy worst and spare not,
For thee and all thy shafts I care not.

What hast thou left wherewith to move my mind,
What life to quicken dead desire?
I count thy words and oaths as light as wind,
I feel no heat in all thy fire:
Go, change thy bow and get a stronger,
Go, break thy shafts and buy thee longer.

In vain thou bait'st thy hook with beauty's blaze,

Not my nectar it was to thee which Godhead accorded;
Thy God-granted might pounced on the nectar amain.

I have not sinned against the God of Love,
And so I think that when I come to die,
His face will reach to me, and hang above,
And comfort me, and hush me where I lie.

Weak am I, full of faults, and on the brink
Of Death perchance with awe my pulse shall move;
I am not fit to die, and yet I think
I have not sinned against the God of Love.

I have desired fame, riches, the clear crown
Of influence, and pleasure's long-drawn zest,
Yet at all times I would have laid these down
To please the human heart that I love best;