But now you're turned bald, John,
Your locks snow white appear,
My blessings on your hoary head,
My Husband, O my Dear.

2

My Husband, O my Dear, John,
The sweet-heart I first had,

And still at church and market
I've kept you tightly clad,
There's some folk say you're failing, John,

But it did ne'er appear,

You always are the same kind man,
My Husband, O my Dear.

3

My Husband, O my Dear, John,
We've seen our sons have sons,
And yet, my dear good Husband,
I'm happy in your arms;
And so are you in mine, John;

Deny it you will ne'er,

Tho' the days are gone that we have seen,

My Husband, O my Dear.

4

My Husband, O my Dear, John,

Our money ne'er was rife

And yet we ne'er saw poverty

Since we were man and wife;

We've still had bread and cheese, John,

Great blessings do we share,

And that helps to keep peace at home,

My Husband, O my Dear.

5

My Husband, O my Dear, John,
The world doth love us both,
We ne'er spake ill o' neighbours,
Nor aught have done in wrath,
To live in peace and quietness
Hath ever been our care,

And they will weep when we are dead,
My Husband, O my Dear.

6

My Husband, O my Dear, John,

From year to year we've past, And soon that year must come, John,

Will bring us to our last;

But let not that affright us, John,

We have no cause for fear, In innocent delight we've liv'd, My Husband, O my Dear.

7

My Husband, O my Dear, John,
We clim'd the hill together,
And many a happy day we've had
In ev'ry wind and weather;

So now we totter down, John,

But hand in hand we'll bear, And we'll sleep together at the foot, My Husband, O my Dear.

XXX.

TO MARY,

BY COWPER.

J. P.

1

THE twentieth year is well nigh past,
Since first our sky was overcast,

Ah! would that it might be the last!

2

Thy spirits have a fainter flow,

I see thee daily weaker grow

My Mary!

"Twas my distress that brought thee low,

3

My Mary!

Thy needles, once a shining store,
For my sake restless heretofore;

Now rust disus'd, and shine no more,

My Mary!

4

For tho' thou gladly would'st fulfil
The same kind office for me still,

Thy sight now seconds not thy will,

5

My Mary!

But well thou play'd'st the huswife's part, And all thy threads with curious art, Have wound themselves about this heart,

6

Thy indistinct expressions seem

My Mary!

Like language utter'd in a dream;

Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme,

7

My Mary!

Thy silver locks, once auburn bright,

Are still more lovely in my sight

Than golden beams of orient light,

8

My Mary!

For could I view nor them nor thee,
What sight worth seeing could I see?
The sun would rise in vain for me,

9

Partakers of thy sad decline,

My Mary!

Thy hands their little force resign;
Yet gently prest, press gently mine,

10

Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st,
That now at every step thou mov'st,
Upheld by two, yet still thou lov'st,

11

My Mary!

And still to love, tho' prest with ill,
In wintry age to feel no chill,

With me is to be lovely still,

12

My Mary!

But ah! by constant heed I know,
How oft the sadness that I show,

Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe,

13

My Mary!

And should my future lot be cast
With much resemblance of the past,
Thy worn-out heart will break at last,

My Mary!