Classic Poem

A NEW YEAR'S GIFT .

Two months are past, and close the rear
Of envy'd Britain's Christian year,
Since wind and rain their victim threw
Where Honour, Love , and Wisdom grew,
Whose charter of unfading merit
The Daughters and the Sons inherit,
An heir-loom of the noblest race
That Virtue's King at Arms can grace.
Two little months for ever bless'd!
What ample store have they compress'd!
High spirit jealous of its birth,
And proud of consecrated worth;
Arm'd with an elevated soul
Above Adversity's controul,
But glowing with as fond a heart
As the lov'd infant could impart;
A zeal that for its cherish'd neighbour
Took no account of rest and labour,
But sprung with renovated haste,
And with new smiles new service grac'd.
If these, oh, Time! are plants of yours ;
If Age the second month ensures;
Proceed! I 'll fear not months to come,
Nor years that spin the vital sum;
'Tis Love that 's proof against caprice —
It cannot fade , and must increase .