VERSES,
ADDRESSED TO MISS A—— B——.
Accept, dear girl, this artless lay,
Flowing from an heart sincere,
And banish sorrow far away,
Nor think Omnipotence severe.
Affliction is the lot of all,
With ev’ry sweet is mixed gall;
Each pleasing prospect that allures,
But a momentous bliss insures.
I’ve felt, alas! this fatal truth,
And been a prey from early youth;
Have drank of sorrow’s bitter cup,
But pleasing hope still bears me up.
With our lov’d friends we here must part,
Death, unrelenting, aims his dart;
We all must his stern call obey,
And sink into our native clay.
You mourn a tender parent’s fate.
Now summon’d to a future state;
Whose kind solicitude while here,
Prevented each corroding care.
Ah, mourn no more, my lovely friend,
Let grief no more your bosom rend;
Dry up your tears, suppress your sighs,
And seek a mansion in the skies.
The orphan’s parent be your guide,
On his sure word of truth confide;
He ever faithful is, and just,
To succour all that in him trust.
REBECCA.
New-York, March 28, 1797.