Whate’er excess the fondest passion knew,
I felt for thee, dear youth; my joys, my care,
My prayers themselves were thine, and only where
Thou wast concern’d, my virtue was sincere.
Whene’er I begg’d for blessings on thy head,
Nothing was cold or formal that I said.
My warmest vows to Heav’n were made for thee,
And love still mingled with my piety.
O! thou wast all my glory, all my pride;
Thro’ life’s uncertain paths my constant guide.