FOUR times the Sun has cross'd the Line,
Since Love and HYMEN made you mine:
Tho' we be lowly, poor, and mean,
We feel nor discontent nor spleen.
We love and live in harmless joy,
No worldly cares our peace destroy;
We envy not the rich refin'd,
With empty pomp, tho' polished mind;
Our pleasures purer far than theirs--
More light our purse, more light our cares.
Years glide along--yet, as they roll,
I think thou'rt dearer to my soul;
Each year I feel I love thee more
Than I could do a year before.

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Two infant Daughters, cement sweet
Of wedded love and joy complete,
Have, by the bounteous hand of Heav'n,
To crown our worldly bliss, been giv'n.
One wish remains, my Friend, that thou
May'st live so long, as oft to view,
With tearful eye, and lab'ring breath,
The verdant turf I lie beneath!