Poem for December 19, 2027

Believe me, dear patrons, I have wand'red too far,

Without any compass, or planet or star;

My dear native village I scarcely can see

So I'll hie to my hive like the tempest-tost bee.

Hail home! sacred home! to my soul ever dear;

Abroad may be wonders but rapture is here.

My future ambition will never soar higher

Than the clean brushed hearth and convivial fire;

Here I lounge at my pleasure, and bask at my ease,

Full readily sooth'd, and desirous to please,

As happy myself as I happy can be,

I wish all the circle as happy as me.

But hark what a clatter! the Jolly bells ringing,

The lads and the lasses so jovially singing,

Tis New-Years they shout and then haul me along

In the mdist of their merry-make Juvenile throng;

But I burst from their grasp: unforgetful of duty

To first pay obeisence to wisdom and Beauty,

My conscience and int'rest unite to command it,

And you, my kind PATRONS, deserve & demand it.

On your patience to trespass no longer I dare,

So bowing, I wish you a Happy New Year.