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May time make good the omen of thy birth,
Nor worldly care thy growing thoughts immure,
Nor hard-eyed thrift usurp the throne of mirth
On thy smooth brow. And, though fast-coming years
Must bring their fated dower of maiden fears,
Of timid blushes, sighs, and fertile tears,-
Soft sorrow's sweetest offspring, and her cure,-

May every day of thine be good and holy,
And thy worst woe a pensive Sabbath melancholy!"

1

THE END.

JOHN CHILDS AND SON, PRINTERS.

THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE

STAMPED BELOW

AN INITIAL FINE OF 25 CENTS
WILL BE ASSESSED FOR FAILURE TO RETURN
THIS BOOK ON THE DATE DUE. THE PENALTY
WILL INCREASE TO 50 CENTS ON THE FOURTH
DAY AND TO $1.00 ON THE SEVENTH DAY
OVERDUE

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