My dear friend John.[102]
Pray, let my pen interpret now
The silent throbbings of my heart,—
Believe me when I make this vow—
My gratitude can ne’er depart.
Thou hast rebuked me, I must own,
With smart precision, and ’tis just;
But still there’s with it meetly flown
The rod of love, which ne’er can rust.