An Ode to Mary.

Thy bosom's my home.—Where else can I roam
To seek one more dear to my breast,
My mind's now at ease:—All disquietudes cease;
On thee shall my confidence rest.
Love ever is free,—for mine is to thee
Most freely and faithfully given,
What's all the bright gold that e'er could be told,
To thee my sweet blessing of heaven.

What tongue can express,—or other minds guess
My joys in remembering thee?
And what can impart more bliss to my heart,
Than th' assurance of thy love to me?
Our loves thus made sure, through life shall endure,
Till Death's summons to us be given
From earth to depart;—still hoping in heart
To meet 'mid the enjoyments of heaven.