Poem for July 5, 2029

Oh, be thou blest with all that Heaven can send,

Long health, long youth, long pleasure, and a friend:

Not with those toys the female world admire,

Riches that vex, and vanities that tire.

With added years, if life bring nothing new,

But, like a sieve, let every blessing through,

Some joy still lost, as each vain year runs o'er,

And all we gain, some sad reflection more;

Is that a birthday? 'tis alas! too clear

'Tis but the funeral of the former year.

Let joy or ease, let affluence or content,

And the gay conscience of a life well spent,

Calm every thought, inspirit every grace,

Glow in thy heart, and smile upon thy face

Let day improve on day, and year on year,

Without a pain, a trouble, or a fear;

Till death unfelt that tender frame destroy,

In some soft dream, or ecstasy of joy,

Peaceful sleep out the Sabbath of the tomb,

And wake to raptures in a life to come.