To Sarah, While Singing

Thomas Gent

In the retirement of this lovely spot,
Sacred to friendship, industry, and worth,
To boundless hospitality and mirth,
Be ever peace and joy—all care forgot,
Save that which carest for a higher, holier, lot!

And thou, sweet girl, whose lovely modest mien,
Cheers the gay banquet with unconscious wiles,
Long mayest thou grace it with affection’s smiles,
The vocal syren of this sylvan scene.
Warbling thy sweetest notes ’midst flowers and woodlands green.

Long be the social circle’s grace and pride,
Of parents’ hopes, the dearest and the best,
“The Dove of promise to this ark of rest:”
Who, when around the world’s fierce billows ride,
Beareth the branch that speaks of the receding tide!